The Phoenix: Burning Day
by Phoenix Refrain
Summary: The story of Johanna Mason from her reaping in the 69th Hunger Games until the announcement of the Quarter Quell. Part 1 of 3.
1. Safe

For three hundred and sixty four days, we hold our breath. The days tick by on the calendar and our apprehension grows greater. Time speeds on regardless of how we feel, we head toward either our salvation or our inevitable doom. Today, would have been a lovely day had we been celebrating for other reasons, but today was the day of the Reaping. Tonight, for this one day, the whole District would breathe but the family of one girl and one boy. The world would crush in on them, threatening everything they love or hold dear. But everyone else would experience a brief respite—for one day. Then even though the Games were going on, the fear and apprehension would start again. There would only be three hundred and sixty four days till it happened again—and each day the weight would press in more until it was almost suffocating. There was only one day of breathing, one day of knowing that everyone was safe. That was it, that's all we had.

The sun was just dawning when I awoke. Today was supposed to be celebration—The Reaping. I felt the heat in my chest burn, I hated this. Each year we were lead like cows to the slaughter, and two of us would leave forever. I thought of what I wanted to do, of how I longed for this to stop. But I had family, people I loved. I couldn't risk that. I was only fifteen, and I was all they had left.

Rising to my feet, I pulled on some simple work clothes. Slipping outside, I grabbed some logs for the fire. Throwing them on the hearth, I squatted there until a fire was roaring and warmed my hands. I could see my sister and brother stirring in their bed before they dozed back to sleep. Quietly, I did my few chores and heated the water. It was easiest for me to bath before they were up.

Placing the large tub in front of the fire, I poured the warm water in until it was full enough for me to bath. Piling my clothing on the floor, I eased myself into the water. Relaxing, I let my thoughts roam. There wasn't' much time today. I'd stored up enough wood last night for today. I'd worked past dark to chop extra lumber for today so that we'd have enough pay to make it through yesterday and today. All my chores had been done, and some money set aside for a special treat for after the Reaping. Our better clothes were hung out for us to dress in. All I had to do was get my brother, Sven, and my sister, Greta ready and help our grandmother to get ready, and then have our lunch. If I was lucky, I could steal away to see Ivan before we had to make our way to the square. My face flushed as I thought of him. I'd never expected to be so happy. He was kind, generous and loving. He understood me and my ways, which was something in it's self. But why, after all had he noticed me?

I was nothing that special really. I was pert, and sarcastic. I was strong. I was everything that wasn't feminine, except for my hair. It was long, silky brown. My only redeeming physical feature I prided myself on, my one beautiful quality. But when he looked at me—I felt my face flush again. He was the only guy who had ever made me blush, the only guy I'd ever been interested in and who liked me for _me._

Before my thoughts could continue, I saw a downy head look up from the pile of blankets from a bed. Greta was waking, which meant that Sven wouldn't be long after. Quickly, I hurried to wash my hair and scrub off quickly before they woke up fully. I had barely wrapped a towel around me, when Sven came bounding out of bed.

His wrinkly little arms were stretching up at me. "Jo! We haf bath soon?"

I brushed the brown curly locks back from three year old Sven's forehead as I kissed his cheek. "Yes, just let me pull my clothes back on. Okay?" My voice was always so gentle with him, and my family. I had learned to speak to Ivan the same way. I remember his surprise at hearing me speak so nicely, so calmly to my family. It wasn't how I reacted to others with my sarcasm that fell just short of bitterness. I didn't smile away from those I loved, not until Ivan. He loved my smile—and always rewarded it's rarity with a kiss.

Pulling the clothes back on from this morning, I dumped the bath and heated some more water. Greta was already out of bed, and yawning. As I poured the warm water into the tub, I could see my five year old sister, Greta and Sven crawling into the tub. As they scrubbed up, and splashed in the water I warmed our bread. It was a rare luxury that I had splurged on for us the night before. It was stupid really, but I wanted them to feel warm and safe. They didn't quite understand what today meant—and what it meant for me.

I found myself leaning on the table, breathing deeply. I could feel a little surge of panic shooting up into me. Grandma and I were all they had left. Our father died in an accident almost four years ago, I was only eleven, my sister only one, and my mother was only a few months along with Sven. That meant that Liam, my eighteen year old brother was the breadwinner for the family. But that didn't last long, and neither did my mother—as one after the other they too went beyond pain or suffering. As their pine boxes closed, I was the only one left behind to suffer—to eek out a living for what was left of our family.

The world wouldn't be that cruel would it? We deserved some respite, didn't we? I would be _safe_ today. We had to be, because what would happen if we weren't?


	2. The Reaping

The cleaning was done, the washings, the laying out of clothes and the dressing of my siblings before we lunched. I was cleaning up our four lunch plates, all that I could bear to set out of the original eight that we had. Greta and Sven were leaned back on their chairs, looking pleasantly full. I couldn't help but smile, in the way I could only smile for them.

"Big food! Yum!" Sven patted his tummy while Greta giggled. "Why not eat this all time?"

Two sets of big brown eyes were looking at me, but thankfully our grandmother interrupted. She was old, very old. I'd never understood how she was still alive—she could hardly walk or do any chores but her fingers could fly faster than anything I'd ever seen. Although all her agility was gone elsewhere, her fingers and arms were nimble for sewing. "Because, today we celebrate life."

Her voice was like warm bread, pleasing—filling. She had been the only comfort when we were left alone, the only one left to love our odd little family. Our parent's friend had quickly forgotten "that sharp-tongued girl" despite her lovely little siblings. I knew, that it was I who had driven them away. I had destroyed our last links to help, to familiarity—to anything outside of this house but Ivan.

Grandma was leading them away, showing Greta how to sew something. Her bright brown eyes were watching eagerly, and her fingers were already nimble. She excelled at it, where as I had failed. I had more of my father, and more of Liam's strength. I had more of the fire my mother had in her youth. It had been hard to believe, that my composed gracious mother had once been as coarse and sharp-tongue as I was. It had to be a lie, a tale to make me feel better about myself—my mother could never have been that way.

The dishes were put away, and while I had an hour or so to myself I strolled to the curtained off section of room to dress. My fingers found my best pair of pants—tan, and my blue shirt which was in the best shape. Combing my long hair, I let it hang loosely. Ivan always liked it best like this. I nodded to my grandmother, she knew that I was heading to meet Ivan and to get to the Reaping area, which became full quite quickly of recent years.

I was out the door, walking. How I wished, I could put in hour in of chopping before going. It would soothe and relax me, it would give me the control I so desperately needed. But all work was closed today, so there was no outlet for the mass of feelings inside of me.

I had walked for several minutes, when my head came up and there he was—Ivan. My heart beat quickly as I looked up at him. He was tall, good-looking. Already dressed in his finest clothes, he smiled at me. "You're not ready yet? Here I was hoping to see you in a dress?"

I raised an eyebrow and scoffed at him, "You won't ever catch me in a dress!"

He shot me a playful smile, "Well then, I guess I won't propose to you then seeing as how you won't wear a dress to the wedding."

I laughed, "Like I'm going to marry you!" It was so easy, the playful banter—so familiar. But his face changed, as his hands wrapped lightly around my wrists.

"No, really." And I knew he was serious.

"Don't play like that." I shook my hands from him, and turned to walk away. But his hands were on my shoulders as he spun me to him. His lips were crushing me, and I was trying to hate him for playing with me like that. I pounded my fists into his tall shoulders, but he held me tighter. I felt myself melting into him.

Finally, we parted and he looked at me again, still holding my shoulders. "I'm not playing. I want this."

"Now?" He really had remarkable timing.

"Yes, now. I want you to say yes. I want you to marry me." His eyes were staring into mine.

"I can't. We can't. I'm too young, this is stupid." It wasn't that I didn't love him, I did. Besides my family, he was the only person I'd loved.

"I don't want to see you struggle. I want you to let me take care of you, of your family."

I couldn't believe he had said that. The one thing that made all other arguments mute, the one way he knew I couldn't refuse him. I wanted to be older, I wanted to make sure—but he was offering me safety…And I loved him already. I could feel my heart pulsing, how many times had we talked about the future as if it was so far away? How often had we made plans? He had just started working at the butcher's, and he could help provide for us. We could take care of my family. I couldn't refuse them that, I couldn't tell him no—because I did love him and I loved them.

The word was so low I could hardly believe it had come out of my mouth. "Yes."

He smiled, pulling out a smile piece of woven leather that was fashioned like a circle. "Just a promise, something to give you." He quickly kissed me, before breaking away into a huge grin as he placed the leather on my finger. "But only if you'll wear the dress."

I laughed back at him, "You'll take me as I am or you'll not be marrying me."

"Good enough," he intertwined his hand with mine as he lead me to the square.

We were talking, we were laughing. I could see heads turn towards us, shocked that I, who they considered so sullen, actually looked happy. Some of them turned angrily from me, probably thinking I was mocking them for this day. Probably thinking that I was acting as if, I was unafraid and happy while each family here was trembling with what would happen in the next thirty minutes. But I didn't care, because I was happy. Happier almost than I had ever been before.

We parted at the check-in. This was his last year, and so he was in a different section than I was. The female peacekeeper looked up at me, waiting for my name. "Johanna Mason," I said it loudly, and clearly.

Before long, I found myself in my section—crammed in between people I didn't know or care to know. One of them could be dead soon, or as good as dead. The minutes creeped by for what seemed an eternity. The anxiety was building in my stomach, but I only had ten tickets—far less than most in this gathering. Ivan had thirty, rations he'd use to help his family until they too were gone from pain. Then the rations were given to me, to my family because he had no one else he loved. I was the only thing he had left, and he valued me and treasured me—he loved me. I could name off at least ten families that at least thirty or more tickets for a child, and I could distinguish the anxious faces of the parents in the crowd.

Time began to run, and the moments that before had seemed like hours were now mere seconds. The heavily tattooed, and green haired woman—Sibyl Terason was up there at the bowl. The speech sped through, and I was anxious—ready to get this over with. I wanted to spend the day with Ivan. I wanted to go back and have our bread, and get married as soon as we could. Tomorrow, if he'd agree to it. I had never felt so alive in my entire life.

Sibyl was reaching into the bowl, her fingers falling on a tiny slip of paper and bringing it up. Clearing her throat, she said in her festive tones.

"Johanna Mason!"

There was silence, and I was standing there in shock.

It was I who was going to die.

I was going to the Games

No, I wasn't going to the Games. They Games had just begun. And I did the only thing I knew how; I began to fight for my survival.


	3. Generations

I knew that I would have no "friends" here. There would be pity for what would happen if I died, and for me being that Mason girl—the one with the family with terrible luck. Liam had gone in like a lion in the 62nd Games. I had watched as my brother was slayed, a target of the Careers. I knew that others would feel shame at what was going through my head, but he was only a memory now. Nothing I could do could hurt him anymore. I threw aside what was left of my dignity, and I began to play.

My voice came out in harsh, wounded scream. Instead of walking to the platform, I turned on my heel to run. Pushing other members of my district out of the way, as I started running. I wouldn't get far, and I didn't need to. I just needed for them to feel my fear, and think I was a coward. I bit hard into my lip, until it bled and made tears come from my eyes. Strong arms were around me grabbing me, and I was screaming, kicking, flailing—as if I would rather die right in this square than to be taken to the arena. But I very much wanted to live.

It was everything I could do not to laugh at their faces. They were looking at me incredously, Johanna Mason was human their faces said. She can feel fear, and I could see their pity. I hated it. I didn't need a hand out, and how foolish were they to think I would crack like this? I, who had watched my brother die seven years before? Who had watched my mother grow frail and sick? I, who had fed my two siblings and grandmother since I was eleven years old? If they fell for this, they deserved it—they didn't know me and had never bothered to know me before now. And now, I was some wounded pathetic creature, just like I wanted them to think.

The peacekeepers dragged me kicking and screaming to the podium. My eyes were foggy with tears as they got me up there, but as they set me on the podium prepared to hold me there by force—I fell to my knees sobbing. My hands covered my face as I made horrible choking sounds—which rather hurt my throat. Thankfully, it hid my eyes which were not nearly as wet as they should have been. As I knelt there sobbing, while they announced the other name, I ground my thumbs into my eyes hoping to make them look bloodshot and red.

It seemed like hours kneeling there, before I was taken to a room. I was there only a few seconds when the door opened and my Grandmother, Greta and Sven came in. My siblings were in my arms in seconds, and I felt the first real pain of these games as they cried onto my shoulder. They hadn't even been alive when Liam had died, but they knew even at their age what had happened. He had lost the Games and I was going to have to play in them too.

Greta was sobbing into my shoulder as Sven rubbed at his eyes. "Listen to me," I tried to keep myself from really crying this time. "Take care of Grandma, do exactly what she says. Ivan will help. You have to be strong for me, don't cry. I'm going to come home for you. I promise."

Greta wailed louder, "What if you don't?"

"I promised. I can't break a promise, can I?" I rubbed the tears from her eyes smiling one final time for her. She struggled to smile back.

Sven nodded, "Can't break promises!" He smiled at me with those bright blue eyes, so much like Liam's.

I stood up, trying to figure out what exactly I could say to my Grandmother. I knew that they would hear everything now, that the Capitol would know. I opened my mouth to speak, but she put her hand up to stop me. "I know…" Her voice sounded tired. "I know…You are who I raised you to be. I know what you're capable of." There was that mischievous twinkle in her eye. But I couldn't help but notice, she was so much older now. That this parting would be difficult for her and for me. She was the last defense between Greta and Sven and cold and hunger.

She had seen her children die, one by one, seen her first grandchild die, and now she was seeing her first granddaughter going off to the slaughter again. She of all people, knew what it was like—she had sent her husband off to the games. He had returned, but he was not the same. I had never met them or lived in their old Victor's house. He was long gone before I knew him, before my father had a chance to know him. She was old, and these Games were taxing. And I know she was wondering if the third person she sent to the games would ever come back?

"I love you." I didn't say it often, but I meant it. And I know she knew it. "I'll do my best. Just hold on till I come back?" I touched her wrinkled old hands.

"Don't worry about us." Her voice was warm and strong, instilling in me that same feeling like warm bread. "You're like your grandfather."

I knew it was her subtle way of telling me she believed in me. Maybe she didn't question my coming home as much as I thought?

I kissed her withered old cheek as the door opened. Stooping quickly, I let the tears flow as I kissed Greta and Sven. "I love you."

I heard their small voices whisper it back before the doors closed again. They were gone.


	4. You Don't Need Me

I hadn't moved when he walked through the door. I stood and stared at him, and he stared at me from the other side of the room. Tears stung my eyes, but they would not fall this time. Why was I crying anyways? No one could see me now—not anyone who could or would target me.

"Johanna," his voice was soft as he walked to me, and I was in his arms. "It's going to be okay. You have to fight, you have to come home."

My arms were around his waist, and my face was buried in his chest as he played with the long hair falling down my back. Pulling away, I looked up into his eyes a bit confused. Had he really accepted those fake tears as real, "Of course, I'm coming home." I kissed onto his jaw, moving my way to his lips.

But his hands were on my shoulders, and he was looking at me. "You're not scared?"

"I'm not scared," I said back.

I could see his face was red with anger, "That was an act?" He pushed away from me and his hands were in his hair as he paced the floor.

"What's the matter?" I didn't understand why he was acting like this. "It's part of the plan. Underestimate me, I want them to underestimate me."

"But you'll never get any sponsors!" He threw his hands out in anguish. "This is a stupid idea, how do you plan to survive without help?" He had me by the shoulders, "You need to fix this—get sponsers."

I pushed him back, I was angry now. "I don't need sponsors. _You _fell for my weak act, it's going to work. It's how I'm going to live through this." I was glaring at him, arms crossed.

He came back to me, trying to hug me. But I pushed him away, again he tried and again I pushed him away. The third time he attempted it, I threw a fist into his chest—but his arms were around me and his lips were on mine. I wasn't mad anymore, I was consumed, calm. Every part of me felt on fire.

He broke away, and he leaned his forehead against mine. "I love you. And I care for you. I'm concerned for you. I thought you needed me, for once." His eyes were closed as he spoke, and then he sighed longingly.

I didn't understand. Of course, I needed him. I wanted him. What did he mean, "I want you here, and it's not that. I just—I know what I have to do." I stared at him, waiting for his eyes to open.

Slowly, the lids flickered open and I could see tears oozing out of the corner of his eye. "I thought you needed my help," he corrected. "I thought for once, I could give you some advice to follow—something that would help you. But you're already playing aren't you? You're already fighting for your life? Already alone? No allies, no mercy—you against the world." He paused for a moment, "Just think about sponsors. They could save your life."

"And paint a target on my back," I'd seen it before. I could feel the anger welling in me, my brother Liam, so strong in the Games. But sometimes, even sponsors can't save you. When a pack hunts you, you are only one—and nothing anyone can do can get you through that. He had been their threat, and they had seen to it that he wouldn't be anymore. "I can't do that."

"I know." We stood there for what little time was left. It felt like only seconds, and then the door was opening. He kissed me once quickly, and I saw him walking out the door.


	5. Silence

** I'd like to thank Lei 96, Solaryllis, Arcencielz and Winrie McGeeky for adding this story to their alerts. Also, thank you Solaryllis for reviewing both times!**

**Happy Hunger Games!**

I sat there for what seemed like hours, but there was no one left to come visit me. There was no more family, and there never were any friends. The few who would show me pity had pulled away when my parents and Liam had died. They couldn't bear to be around me, my wide-set brown eyes much like my mother's when she was younger and my tongue laced with venom. It had always been who I was. I should grow out of it my mother had said, but now I had no desire—no need to. What did it matter?

I stood up and paced the floor. It irritated me to have to stand here, my goodbyes were said—and the other tribute—Wren, that was his name, was still seeing his family. But it was okay, because he would be saying his last goodbyes if everything went according to my plans. Let him take all the time he needed, because he wasn't coming back and I was.

After a moment's hesitation, I knocked on the door. The burly peacekeeper opened and looked down on me. "Can I have a glass of water?" My voice let out a quaver as I lowered my eyes. I was sure maybe he found that endearing, or maybe he thought I was scared—but it was more than strategy, it was to keep him from seeing the hate in my eyes.

After a few moments, he placed the cool glass in my hands as I made my way back to the couch. I held onto the water, for a moment before taking a long swallow. Taking a deep breath, I prepared myself. They'd come for me soon, and I needed to look pitiful and unthreatening.

Taking my hands, I rub my eyes till the feel almost raw and slightly puffy. Splashing the water on my face and around my eyes, I hoped that I looked like I'd been crying. Walking across, the room I looked at myself in the mirror. I was small, underweight at best but my muscles looked kind of developed. Maybe in the capitol, there would be a way to cover up the fitness of them, make them look less threatening. My long brown hair was beautiful and feminine, an illusion of softness. My eyes were lined and puffy, like I'd been crying rather than rubbing them viciously to make it look that way.

The door opened behind me, and I heard them call for me to come. I composed myself just slightly, now I was going to look shy, vulnerable, weak…but cried out for now. Bite my lips a little, fidget around some and act nervous even though they're foolish Capitol presence only rankled me than any other emotion.

Lead to the car, I got in easily—enjoying the ride, I'd never been in one before, to the train station. I stepped out of the car, biting my lip. I was too slow to look down, lights popped in my eyes and I was blinded for a moment. Stumbling slightly, I could see the kind hands reach out to touch me. Everything in me revolted at their touches, I'd like to break their hands for touching me—rub my skin raw where they touched, but that wasn't who I was right now. I was Johanna Mason, the girl who everyone knew would die at the Cornocopia.

They posed us on the platform for pictures, bringing Wren to the front. It only lasted for a a minute or two, we hadn't shaped up to that much—not in the eyes of the Capitol. I was glad for it to be over, I was sure my eyes would never recover from the flashing cameras.

Sibyll led us into the train, her green curls bouncing around over her heavily tattooed skin. Her nasally Capitol voice spoke as she pointed us to side by side rooms. "This one is yours Johanna," she pointed on the one to the left. "This one is yours Wren," she pointed to the other. She paused looking at us for a moment before she sighed, "We eat in an hour. You can use anything that you want in your rooms, it's completely yours." With that she nodded and turned away, leaving Wren and I standing there.

I cast my eyes down, as I headed into my room. His hand was on my shoulder, "Jo? Wait…"

His vivid green eyes were looking down into mine. Apparently, he thought I needed consoling or protection—some foolish idea like that. "I'm okay," I said walking into my room and closing the door behind me.

My eyes flashed open, I could hear the soft steps at the carpet outside the door. Before he had reached my room, I had the door open. I had expected Wren, not _him._ He had a slightly worried expression as he looked me up and down. He was about forty at most, little worry lines crinkled around his eyes. I'd seen him in my District—he was one of a few surviving male tributes—and the youngest. No female victor was still living from seven. His hair was dark, he was neither fit or unfit. All and all, I couldn't say I saw a champion in him, but somehow he had been—once.

He extended his hand, and as my smaller one touched his I felt the warm but weak handshake. "I'm Blight, you're mentor." He nodded, still looking at me strangely. "You're Johanna Mason?"

I nodded my head, because of course, who else would I be? Besides, I'd already determined the more I could keep my mouth shut the better.

"Knew your father when we were younger," he continued. Turning, he walked away. Halfway down the corridor, he stopped, "Forgot, meal's ready." Then he was down the hall.

For a moment, I wondered if his peculiarity was really all him, or had it been some delusion or misconception after my nap? He'd always looked distracted, tired even but up-close he was just odd.

As I walked down the hall and found a seat at the table, I wondered how exactly or when even had he known my father. I never remembered my dad mentioning him. Not that there was much to mention about him. His game happened before I was born, but I knew that I never heard retellings of it—which usually meant what the Capitol termed a "boring" game.

We sat down at the table, and I tuned out the others, as I began my meal. Let them think it was because I was weak, really I was just famished. As the first course was set down, I wanted to dive in and I was almost unable to stop myself. Then I realized the problem with my plan—I was supposed to be weak, crying and upset. How would I have the stomach to eat all this rich, rich food?

Bitter disappointment filled me as I tried to figure what to do, until finally I just stared at my bowl seething in rage and trembling on the outside.

"Are you okay?" Wren was asking gently, next to me.

Don't look up, whatever you do don't look up, I was telling myself. I knew that even Wren who seemed far too kind for his own good would see the fierce competitor, the savage beast in my eyes. It wasn't fear that was fillling me, it was hunger and anger.

I nodded my head, keeping my head down before picking up the spoon and dipping it into the soup. It was everything I could to keep my shaking hand from thrusting the food into my mouth unceremoniously. The creamy broth hit my taste buds and I could feel the explosion of flavor in my mouth. Whatever else the Capitol was, they did know how to cook. As I shoveled in soup as slowly as I could, I thought of how my Grandmother would love this, how Sven and Greta's bellies would be filled for once if they had this kind of faire. I wish somehow, I could send some of this to them.

"Johanna," a sharp voice cuts in. I look up to see Sibyll, Wren, and Blight all looking at me. "Are you listening? Your mentor just asked you a question."

I didn't have to hide my eyes, I was far too happy about the food to feel bitter or angry right this moment. "No, I'm sorry," I say meekly.

Blight sighs in his dejected way. I couldn't help but to think of his nerve. He expected me to listen to _him_? He was no real catch as far as mentors go, he just happened to be the youngest. Maybe other districts cycled through victors, letting everyone have a chance to mentor, not having to do it every year. But ever since Blight had won, he'd been the only one doing this. He'd had a victor once, maybe he was young and still full of promise as a mentor then or maybe he just got lucky. Either way, she died the next year before she could even mentor. His voice was cutting into my thoughts, "Do you have any skills? Wren here was telling me he's excellent at hiding and concealment. What about you Ms. Mason?"

Ms. Mason? He was calling me Ms. Mason like he didn't even want to bother to get to know me. He was writing me off already, and that was fine by me. I smiled broadly, "I know how to tie knots really good," which was the overstatement of the year. I could tie a knot—in the sense that it should hold but took up far more rope than it should Untying it was impossible for me. I made a note to work on that in my quarters.

I saw Blight's face fall. Getting up, he walked away from the table without another word. Good riddance.

I had eaten long after the others were done, because of my frequent stops and smaller bites. Finally, I was forced to leave the tables so that we could watch the other Reapings, though I could have eaten much, much more.

We were sitting around the TV squeezed together on the sofa—too uncomfortably close when Blight came back. He looked more dejected and vacant than normal, how pathetic. Did he really think he was that much help to us? He sat down on the armrest beside me, and my skin crawled at his proximity.

Then the recap began.

The usual blather at the beginning just like every other year, but then the actual reapings began. I didn't have to hide my face, because no one would be watching me. The pair from District 1 were blond and huge. They were always the ones to watch, but not as impressive this year as normal—Onyx who had curly blonde hair (go figure?) and Agnar, the boy. A brunette from two, who didn't look particularly frightening, but she had sharp, intelligent eyes despite her small body—Piper. Her male counterpart was taller, broader—more typical District 2—Harris. However, District 3 was the shock. The boy was a brute, the girl beside him was looking at him a bit terrified. She was about my size, maybe slightly taller but with more weight—Feora. But her district partner was more along the lines of the Career districts. It wasn't so much that he was bigger than them, but that he looked equal to them. Knowing he was from District 3 also meant he was probably intelligent—a fierce combination. White blond hair, name of Aeon.

Districts four and five went by with little notice, from me. Six had a girl—Flux. Her hair was dark black, and her skin was very pale. At first, I had almost dismissed her, but then I saw something in her that reminded me of myself. She was just bidding her time…Her partner was unimpressive and had a nagging cough.

We came up on the screen and I buried my face in my hands, peeking through the middle to look. I had been dragged to the stage in full, sobbing glory while Wren looked calm and logical. Perfect. Good thing my hands were covering my face or else they would have all seen the look of glee I gave about pulling it off.

I felt Sibyll pat my back gently, and I came out from behind my hands as if I felt reassured by her. The rest of the Districts made little to no impression on me.

Blight flicked off the TV and rubbed his forehead as if he was in pain. "We should all rest, we've got an early morning. Time for breakfast then we'll be there." He ushered each of us to our rooms, as if maybe we were too stupid to find our way there. Whatever. The further I got away from home, it was both harder and easier to keep up the charade. No one knew me here, not really—but oh how I loathed them.

After searching a few minutes in my room, I found some ribbons in my closet—like I'd really wear those—and settled down to try my hand at a few knots. After a few attempts, I realized that I was still hungry—and I _was_ on a Capitol train. What better way to inconvenience them and please myself than to ask for more food?

Tiptoeing my way into the dining room, I see an Avox polishing the table. When I realize that it wasn't just some Capitol loon, but someone who once could have been from home I lose my nerve. But he's turned to me, and his face is kind with wide set brown eyes. He looks at me and holds up his hand signaling me to wait.

And I just stand there with this stupid look on my face when he returns a few minutes later with a large tray of food and takes me back to my room. He sets it done on the table with a large glass of cocoa. For once in my life, I'm not forced and I'm not ungrateful—I _feel _the need to say it. "Thank you."

How could the one person who couldn't talk to me show me compassion and warmth? He hesitated a moment, and looked into my eyes and squeezed my hand before disappearing. Maybe he wished he could die like I was going into the arena, that he wouldn't have to live without a voice for the rest of his life. Maybe once I would have thought that, but the way he looked at me—I knew he was saying it just as clearly as if he could have formed the words. As if he really, truly meant it—not out of pity but out of hope or belief or whatever other thing I've lost already—"Good luck."


	6. I am a freaking tree

**Sorry this took a bit! We had family over, then a storm, and then Johanna was arguing with me…quite a lot. She was getting ahead of herself in the story. But I got quite a few future scenes done now on the other hand.**

**Updates are back on schedule, probably 2-3 a week for now. Possibly down to once a week in November since I'm doing Nanowrimo.**

**Also, no one has yet guessed how Johanna kills the first tribute. Keep guessing guys!**

**I'll get back to anyone I haven't gotten to in the next few days. I really hope you enjoy this, and please PLEASE review. It really keeps me going.**

**Edit: Sorry, asterisks STILL hate me. So I'm doing a line of ellipses only to separate until I can figure out something else that this site doesn't change X_X**

_**The tree is more than first a seed, then a stem, then a living trunk, and then dead timber. The tree is a slow, enduring force straining to win the sky. ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry,**____**The Wisdom of the Sands**__**, translated from French by Stuart Gilbert**_

Long into the night, I ate as much of the food as I could possibly stand. It would be best to put on a little weight now before the games, that way I could afford to lose more while I was in the arena. My fingers fumbled with the knots, making headway here and there. I took less rope to make them now, but I still couldn't figure out how to untie them—but if they had to be untied maybe the whole point was lost already.

But as my fingers fumbled with the ribbons and sleep eluded me, despite being up for almost eighteen hours, I thought of the Avox servant. I didn't understand what exactly he meant to me. Maybe it was because he was the first person besides my family or Ivan that I felt wasn't being kind to me for a reason. He could have served me coolly, he could have scorched me with his eyes—but those wide set brown eyes, just like mine, just like Greta's, had looked at me so kindly. I could give him nothing, and he gave me something I needed the most right now—one person who knew me, who cared that I lived or died.

I don't know how I knew that, or how it mattered exactly—except that we shared something in that one instance I had never shared with an outsider before. He didn't need my acceptance, he didn't need my help—his only act was kindness to me and that would never be tainted.

I couldn't understand it, so I tried to push him from my mind. But I kept feeling the pressure of his hand on mine, and somehow I felt stronger—and more foolish. Because, it was an act of kindness, how far could that really go?

…

I awoke to the sound of light tapping, "We're here." I woke up, my face plastered sideways into a pillow, feet still on the floor, biscuit in one hand and ribbon in the other. My eyes felt gritty, painful after staying up most of the night practicing. Only sheer exhaustion had allowed me to fall asleep as I had.

"Johanna?" Sibyll called again in her soft tones. "Just get dressed, you're grooming and eating will take place with your stylist team."

I don't even bother to make myself look presentable as I shove the biscuit into my mouth and head out the door. After all, I didn't want them to like me, I only wanted them to pity me. That was all I wanted from these Capitol people, and then I'd throw that pity back in their face. I would show them who I really was, the monster they had created with their districts, their starvations, their Hunger Games…

I kept my head down as I walked out the door, and I could hear Sibyll sigh as she looked at me. "Oh Johanna," her voice was soft as her hands touched me, I couldn't help but flinch—despite her well intentions, despite that she was kinder than most, she was from the Capitol. But luckily she took my flinch as one of fear, as she smoothed out my shirt and tucked it in to make it look more presentable. "Jo dear, you've got to pull it together. We could get a pretty girl like you sponsors." She adjusted my long brown hair.

She tilted my face up, and I was forced to look into her eyes. I was afraid that she'd see the real me there, but she didn't stop smiling. "There, there…chin up." She'd fallen for it, looking me in the eyes while my hate wasn't entirely hidden but not blazing wildly as before.

And I knew in that instance, I felt the same towards her as she did towards me—pity.

But before I could think any more of it, Wren came walking out—his bright green eyes taking me in. "Is she okay?" He asked Sibyll as if I wasn't even there. Because, obviously she would know how I was doing.

"I think we're just a bit nervous, aren't we dear?" She ran her hands through my hair, as she spoke. I felt revulsion welling up inside me as she kept up her stroking, "I was just telling her that she's got to be more presentable so that you two can have sponsors—to bring one of you home." Her brows knit together, the heavy tattooed lines meeting in an odd pattern as her face contorted into something I realized was sorrow.

I felt a tiny prick in my conscience; could it be possible that with my rotten luck, we'd actually gotten an escort with a heart? It couldn't be though could it? They didn't make that model—not in the Capitol anymore.

…..

A care ride and breakfast whirled by. It was easier not to eat so much this time, I'd stuffed myself so much all night long that it was hard for me to eat at all even now. The car ride was lulling me to sleep, and when we arrived I felt strong arms around me lifting me up. "No, don't wake her. I'll just carry her. Needs the sleep, look at her."

My mind drifted up out of sleep, but I didn't open my eyes. Let them baby me if they wanted. As I was placed gently down, I slipped open a lid of my eye to discover that it wasn't Wren who had carried me like I thought, it was Blight.

I feigned stretching and thanked him in as shy of a voice as I could muster. He sat back down beside me, his hand on my knee. "I knew your father once." He began again like before, I couldn't help but be intrigued. But he didn't continue on, he just sat there as if he was lost for words. I felt my temper rising, and I could not quell it before his eyes came up to mine.

I jerked my head away, but it was too late. He'd backed away, he was standing there—his breath heavy as if from shock. I could feel the alert rigidity of his body a few feet away, but I didn't look at him. His voice was firm when next he spoke, "Look at me Johanna Mason."

For a moment, I hesitated. But really, the game was up, so why hide from him now? My eyes flew up and I was on my feet, my chest heaving. "What?" My voice was terse, typical Johanna.

He just stared at me alarmed, before fumbling for words. "All along…Jonathan's daughter." I could see his fists clenching and unclenching as his face paled. I wasn't sure what was going on with him, it was intense and strange. But his face fell back suddenly into its vacant lines. "Watch your eyes Ms. Mason." Fumbling, he turned and left.

…

It was almost lunch. I'd been scrubbed, trimmed, plucked, tarred, feathered, basted, and finally roasted—or at least if felt like that. My skin tingled as they showed me my "improved" look. I could hardly recognize the girl there. But those were my wide-set brown eyes, my long hair caught up and intricately curled and braided, and—it was all still me. I stared for the longest time, not sure what to make of myself. I felt lovely, gorgeous. My hair and make-up were done beautifully, and the fabric of my dress felt amazing.

This was not like the dresses back home which were itchy and cottony—something I hated. This dress was rich fabric that seemed alive when you touched it. It felt more like an old friend than something just slipped onto your body. I couldn't wait to see its full glory in the mirror.

They arranged me around, added a few final touches as I found myself falling in love with dresses, or at least dresses that felt like this. I looked into the mirror as they stood back, oohing and ahhing. My hair was woven up with some green vine that trailed from the intricate hair down and around my brown and green dress. Parts of me were barely concealed beneath the leaves and vine. It was beautiful, perfectly exquisitely beautiful. But still, I was a _freaking_ tree.

Didn't they have one ounce of originality?

Then I realized that I'd have to ruin this beautiful creation if I was going to pull of my plan. I could not look fearsome and glorious now, that could be afterwards—but not now. It seemed so wasteful to destroy this work, but it was better than destroying my family—this beauty was not lasting.

Maybe they'd been warned about me. Before I could close my eyes to squeeze the tears out and bring my hand up to smudge my face, hands were gently touching mine. I looked up, tears sparkling in my eyes as I tried to stare unblinking to bring them on. Wren was holding one hand, and Sibyll the other. Sibyll was stroking my hand while Wren held the other tightly, "Don't ruin your make-up." Her voice was still soft and sweet despite it's Capitol accent. "Verity has done such amazing work, don't let it go to waste."

So this was the new project then? Stay by me to keep me from bawling or screwing up my make-up, two could play at this. I'd be alone sooner or later, and I would destroy this. For now, I smiled weakly. "Okay…" My voice came out very meek, as I kept my eyes lowered.

Wren was standing there, in only a wrap with vines around his body and the wrap. His sun-browned skin set it all off. He was staring at me intently, "Jo…" I didn't move. "Jo…" He hesitated for a moment. "Let's team up Jo. We can't both win, but it should be one of us."

I pulled my hands back from him abruptly, and I turned in my sandaled feet and ran. This was what the Johanna they though they knew would do, it was what the real me wanted to do. I wanted to get away from them—destroy this thing and compose myself.

As I ran, I heard footsteps behind me, and I knew that Wren would be coming after me. But I heard Blight's voice saying calmly, "Let her go Wren."

"I only offered her help," his feet weren't moving anymore, he'd stopped.

The last thing I heard before my feet took their voices beyond reach were Blight's, "Let her go. You can't help her Wren, it'll only get you killed. Let her go, don't make your death be on her conscience to."

I paused a few corridors over, standing there not winded at all. My fingers fell, for the first time since I'd left home, onto the leather band around my finger. It was so small, so fragile looking but strong—much stronger than it appeared. I remembered Ivan begging me to reconsider, but this had sealed it—I could not ever change my mind. If I was to come home to him, to my family—I had to be willing to sacrifice anyone who stepped into the arena with me. I would not let Wren protect me or risk his life for me.

Blight's words sunk in, he knew that in the end I'd kill Wren to go home. He was asking Wren to spare me from having to do that, not the other way around like Wren thought. Wren had to stay away from me if he expected to live at all, because Blight knew I'd kill him and suspected or knew that Wren would not kill me. How foolish of him, I was not his friend or his lover. I was not even his acquaintance. But—and the thought hit me as I stood there. To him, I was what was left of _home._

I couldn't kill Wren, or at least I didn't want to.

It wasn't as hard as before to start crying. The make-up didn't run like I would have thought, they must have seen to that. But I could feel my eyes were red and my face was splotchy. I tore part of the vine from around my body, and pulled down a few loose strands of hair. I could feel the rage overwhelming my body as I stood there, even the few things I had done to mess up my costume seemed futile. All my plans for this game seemed futile.

I turned a corner and found myself face to face with a mirror. Looking, I could see my beauty was far from diminished. If I was going to live, I needed to destroy this. Taking a deep breath, I looked into the mirror for one last time before I smashed my hand into it. The glass shattered beneath it as I felt the blood oozing out of the myriad of cuts. I heard footsteps running, I didn't have much time.

Grabbing the largest chunk of glass, I cut a gaping hole in the gown and then severed a sleeve before wiping my bloody hands all over it and situating myself on the floor. They could find me now if they wanted—bloody, bruised, sobbing, and destroyed.

Serves them right for making me a freaking tree.


	7. Home

_**Home is the one place in all this world where hearts are sure of each other. It is the place of confidence. It is the place where we tear off that mask of guarded and suspicious coldness which the world forces us to wear in self-defense, and where we pour out the unreserved communications of full and confiding hearts. It is the spot where expressions of tenderness gush out without any sensation of awkwardness and without any dread of ridicule. ~Frederick W. Robertson**_

Wren was the first one to get to me, my face red and blotchy my hands covered in blood. He looked worried, like I was some delicate five year old rather than my sixteen year old self. "What happened?" His face scrunched together in concern, his voice soft like he was trying to soothe a child.

"I—I" I fumbled for a moment, and then broke into a sob. Yeah, I hadn't thought of what to say quite yet.

"It's alright Jo, you're okay." He was pushing the hair out of my face, and I was annoyed by this charade. He was being kind, he was being all homey—he was being the piece of home I didn't want to think about. I hope he dies. I hope he dies quickly, so I don't have to kill him in the end.

"I go-got lost and stumbled into the mirror." It wasn't the brightest story I'd ever came up with, but it seemed to do the trick.

Sibyll was there and my stylist Verity who looked beside herself with the fact that her creation was destroyed. I felt a grim satisfaction that I had to suppress from reaching my lips. Sibyll's kind voice cut in. "Let's get you cleaned up. There's not much time."

And there wasn't, for which I am eternally grateful. Verity and her helpers have only enough time get the blood out before the peacekeepers demand we come or else, we were that late. We're hurried into the chariot and before we can even look around or breath, it stumbles forward. I grab onto the edge nearly losing my balance. My hair is in disarray, my hand is bandaged, my make-up smudged, and my dress ripped.

It was perfect.

We made the way around the square and I cried until I thought all the water in my body had to be gone. I waved feebly, between burying my face in my hands to sob. After awhile, the tears didn't come as easy so I ground my nails into the cuts on my hand bringing sharp stinging sensations to my eyes. Wren looked distressed, but was coming off quite a lot better than he would have. By my weakness, he would get sponsors. He looked positively strong and lively beside me.

….

We are finally back to our rooms, and Sibyll looks at me in concern as does Wren while Blight looks reasonably distracted. But before they can say a word, I raised my hand to silence them before picking up the silky contours of my dress and walking to my room alone.

I am _tired_ and my hand does hurt. I cut it very deeply, and digging my nails into it all night to produce more tears didn't help. I could probably use some healing or stitches or whatever new and updated thing they Capitol did instead. But it was as much of a part of who I was to keep this wound, it reminded me of swinging axes. It reminded me of the first time I'd had stitches on my arm because of a sharp blade. It reminded me of _home._

Why was that word so prevalent in my mind today? I'd been there only yesterday—a lifetime ago. My whole life I had lived there hoping to escape, to be free to never see that place again; but now that I was free of District 7 I wanted desperately to go back. Because it was home, it was mine. Everything I had ever loved was there. My parents lying in their graves., my brother in his, and our grandfather who'd played in the games too. My grandmother and my siblings, home and waiting. Ivan—my future waiting to fulfill the promise of the tiny leather circle—a ring.

And now it was my token.

He had never intended it as such, but it was the one thing I couldn't go into the arena without. My token—my memory of home. The only memory of home that I wanted, though home was following me everywhere. It was haunting and taunting my every memory now. Why was this going to be made harder for me? I had spent every thought since the Reaping convincing myself that this was easy. Just a few days—a few weeks, and then I am home.

But what will I lose in the process? I am harder than some, I am already bitter about what has happened to the ones I loved—what do I have to lose if I win at any cost? Nothing. I wouldn't be like Blight, drunk at times and distant at others. I wouldn't let that happen to me, whatever it took from within me I would not let my loved ones see.

I got up heavily, stripping off the vines and dress, not bothering to be careful. They were ruined now. I went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Having missed taking one on the train, this was my first shower. Well, at least the first shower that had warmed water if you could even count bathing beneath a waterfall. But that had been a long time ago, when I had a grandfather who was a victor and no one questioned us when we went right beyond the trees to the waterfall. It was the last day I had spent with him before he died.

The water was running down me in warm pathways as my eyes shut beneath the stream. The water made me think of him. Of the last day I was a child, before the reality of death set in. I felt my hands clenching beneath the water.

Five years old, and I remembered the Victor's Village. I remembered that it was my home until they made us go back to our old one after my grandfather died—the victor was dead and we had to go. I remember the first night of adjusting to small house that my family had lived in long ago when my parents were young, to the cold floors and the chilling walls. I remember that my father's face was pressed into sadness, solitary tears falling from his eyes. My grandmother was grim, but unmovable like always—a force to be reckoned with even in her frail old body. I had never seen her cry, never.

How had she felt when she saw me screaming and crying being dragged to the stage? Had she thought I was already lost to her, or had she known that I would know how to play—to make everyone think I was pathetic and an easy kill? I think she knew, maybe even before I knew what I would do. Her voice like warm bread, a comforting constant until now in my life. I leaned my head against the cool tiles of the shower, not as intrigued as I would have been with all the buttons and soap had I not been thinking of District 7.

I remembered Ivan's hot kisses a year ago as they tingled on my skin when we had escaped the Reaping. I'd loved him since—well, I couldn't define the moment it started. I just woke up one day to realize I did. Those memories of kisses so vivid, I could still feel them now. Our hands had linked together; our bodies had joined for the first time. There was so much ecstasy, so much love in such a simple, timeless activity. Though I was not his first, he was mine—my only.

I remembered when we were snuggling after, for a few minutes before we had to leave to make curfew that I'd warned him—again, I wasn't the marrying kind. He had laughed and told me that would change with time. That one day, he'd have me as his forever. I remember how we had joked then, easily as we fell deeper and deeper in love.

But all these memories stood out so clearly different from my Capitol room and my Capitol shower. This was real, this nightmare. That was only memories.

I dried off with some special machine, found pajamas in the closet and sat down to order up my own personal meal—as much as I could possibly eat. Another Avox came in and gave me food, and I wondered if I'd ever see him again—if I ever would know the name of the one who believed in me so easily. I made a point to thank the Avox for her service before she left.

Then I was alone. Alone with my longing for home, the memories washing over me like waves, and wishing I could find the clothes I'd come in. I wanted to clutch them to me, breathe them in and smell _home._

…

I awake before dawn. Stumbling around, I find a pair of pants and shirt I'd set out the night before and pull them on. But they feel all wrong, not like my clothes at all. I bump into unfamiliar things. Then I remember, I'm not home with a lurching feeling in my stomach.

I am Johanna Mason. I am in the Capitol, reaped for the 69th Hunger Games. My breathe catches, and I feel myself shake as the realization hits me all at once. All the feelings since two days ago when I had been reaped are hitting me now. They are washing over me, and I am being pushed below the surface. I am drowning in them now.

My head feels light, as I feel my knees hit the floor and my hands go out in front of me. I pant for breath for a moment, allowing myself this weakness now while I'm alone. Because I couldn't really lose it later, not like what I felt right now—let it go now Johanna, I told myself. If you need to do this, do it now. I will not cry for real in front of them. They wouldn't know the difference, but I would.

But instead of tears coming, instead of pain—I remembered gentle hands clutching mine. A rough hand with a soft touch, squeezing my hand—much longer than he ever had when I'd met him so briefly.

Good luck. Hope. Kindness. It all meshed together in my head—all the words he had never, could never say to me. I felt it welling up inside me, and I pushed myself from the ground as I took a deep breath. It wasn't anger, it wasn't sadness—it was certainty.

I almost thought I saw his eyes looking at me in the darkness before they disappeared, but he was not here. Wherever he was—he was not here.

I slipped out my room into the dark hallways and made my way to the roof. Standing on the edge of the building, I felt the wind whip around me as I extended my arms. I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout from the rooftops.

I may not be the most skilled, or the strongest. I don't have the training of the careers. I don't want glory.

But I am not weak. I am not frightened. I am desperate. I am ruthless. I am bitter and hard-hearted.

And as the wind whips around me louder, I still don't speak as I close my eyes sealing my vow to myself.

I am Johanna Mason. I will come home alive, no matter what. I will kill whoever stands in my way. I will—no.

The wind dies down as I speak the last part in a low whisper. I hope the Capitol hears me, my face lit up as I smile almost serenly.

"I _am_ the victor of the 69th Hunger Games."


	8. Training

**I'm pleased with this chapter. I hope you are too!**

**Unfortunately the other stuff, I must do is going to have to wait. Because Johanna has demanded my unrelenting attention and I am forced to comply.**

**So expect the next few chapters to follow VERY rapidly. I'm doing something very interesting for the Interview. Then the next chapter is the last one before the arena. **

**Next chapter will be the LAST time I am accepting guesses for how Johanna kills her first tribute.**

**Acting is a nice childish profession - pretending you're someone else and, at the same time, selling yourself.****  
><strong>**Katharine Hepburn****  
><strong>

For a few moments, I stand there—the wind whipping around me and tousling my long hair. I imagine that this is what it feels like to fly. And I laugh, but it's not the same laugh as back home. This one is more bitter, more broken—more the laugh of my grandfather, and more the last laugh of my brother before he died in the arena.

I make my way back down to my room, no one is yet awake and I sit back down on my bed. I have to keep up my charade so I order piles and piles of food to my room and it no time it appears. There's enough to feed my family for a week back home, but I am determined to eat as much as I can. I reach for the starchiest things first knowing they'll help with the weight.

For the next two hours, I sift my way through food while I formulate my plan. I know what my skill is and I know that I cannot show it. In fact, I have to look pretty terrible at basically everything if I'm going to pull this off. This also means that I won't get the practice with the quality weapons that will be in the arena. However, I can practice what I can in my room alone.

So as I eat, I figure out exactly what I'm going to do later when I'm alone. I make a mental list of the things I'll need—scissors, ribbons, and the rest will involve my body only. I have to look like I'm trying though in training, but not to exert myself too fully.

…

At 9 AM, Sibyll is knocking at my door. "Johanna, you need to come eat."

The sound of the word eat makes me sick. I have gourged myself since the food arrived at 7 AM. I stand up, putting my tray of food in the bathroom so that Sibyll wouldn't see it as I came out. My stomach is bulging on my small frame like a woman early in her pregnancy. It was only reasonable considering I'd never had this much to eat in my entire life.

I tug the loose-fitting tunic back into place, glad that it covers my stomach—though I knew it wouldn't be bloated for long. I make my way out, eyes downcast and past Sibyll to the dining room. I sit there for the next fourty minutes enduring their indulging voices asking me to eat but refusing. They think I'm frightened, but the truth is if I eat anymore I'll puke. As it is, I can feel the water sloshing around in my stomach making me feel a little sick. Next time, maybe I shouldn't eat quite as much—especially before training.

It's ten minutes until ten when we make our way into the gym to practice; I can't help but look up and gawk at how large the place is. Most of the other tributes are looking around or huddling with their district partner—except, of course, the careers and oddly enough the white blonde male Aeon who is associating with them. I guess the careers have decided his build and demeanor is fitting enough for him to join their group. His district partner Feora is to the side alone—evidently she was not invited to this new alliance.

Wren is doing his best to babysit me, so he follows me to my first station. But it would be so easy now to get rid of him. I go straight to the station I wanted the most. I lay my hands on an axe, making sure to test the weight before I lifted it. I make it look like it was too heavy for my puny arms before I lift it. I can feel the warm, reassuring weight like an extension of my arm—I can feel them looking at my struggle. I am from District 7—lumber, they want to see how deadly I can be. I raise my arms above my head with the axe, letting it fly from my hands backwards.

I duck my head in embarrassment and shiver in supposed fear as the girl Onyx with blonde hair glares at me fiercely when I just miss hitting her in the leg. But Wren comforts me and convinces me to try again after thirty minutes, wasting his own precious time. This time I have been given a clear path behind me, and so I act like I'm aiming for the target—but about a foot to the left of the target is Piper, the brunette with sharp eyes from District 2, and that is my real target.

I hear a sigh of relief when I release the axe blade, because at least I haven't hit anyone behind me. But as the axe whizzes about 3 inches in front of Piper, right on my real target, Wren drags me away to another station.

Even after awhile, he gets bored of me. I spend the rest of the time till lunch working on knots. Then we head to the cafeteria, where I only eat some light fruit—I'd order a big meal back in my room. I have to keep the impression up that I was too sick and nervous to eat much. But if they really paid attention, they'd notice I was gaining weight.

The afternoon, I split between edible plants and camouflage. Because, unfortunately I know nothing about them.

When we leave the training, I head straight up to my room—refusing to eat supper. They try to coax me out, but I refuse while I sit there eating my fabulous meal. After they're gone, I sit on my bed and use the ribbon to tie knots. I practice all the ones I've learned over the next hour.

Then, I walk over to the drawer and pull out the pair of scissors. I wait until it sounds as if everyone is bed. Carefully, I pull apart the scissors and lay one piece to the side. Holding it in my hand, I make a target out of my ribbon. At first, I practice sticking the knife into the ribbon as it is pinned against the wall. Then for another hour, I practice—letting it flutter in the breeze. I'm not as good at a moving target, but I'm quick and it's easy enough to get a good enough shot after hefting axes all your life.

By the time I'm done practicing, it's late—after midnight. I take a few more bites of food, ask that my food be delivered at 6:30, and sleep until the wafting smell of breakfast wakes me.

…

Day two of training is spent basically the same as the first, I study the edible section again. But after that, I learn basic survival skills—most of which I know like how to start a fire. I am quiet and act only vaguely interested in whatever I do. I can see the pity in their eyes as they look at me, and I have this horrible feeling of wanting to gouge out their eyes. But that wouldn't be very "pitiful" Johanna. So I hold my tongue, and hide my eyes from them lest they see right through me.

It's lunch again, and Wren wants me to eat more. I do, acting like I'm giving in. He talks to me about an offer for an alliance from District 9. I shake my head no adamantly.

"Why not?" He whispers.

"I don't want an ally," I respond.

"Don't be foolish," he objects.

"I can't ally with you, because…" I let me words trail off. Let him think what he wanted.

"I can protect you for as long as I can," he says in a softer voice.

"Why?" I try to make my voice sound pathetic rather than annoyed.

"Because you're one of my people."

"I don't want to be the one to get you killed," I say honestly. I can feel the agitation rising. But before he objects, I speak again. "Don't make me have to live with that."

He doesn't realize the statement. Because if I was dying, I wouldn't have to live with it would I? It would just be over. But he lets it go. And I'm glad, because I don't want to kill him.

"Okay," it's all he says.

…

The rest of the day is spent testing out different sections, and the night is spent doing the previous exercise from the night before but not as long since I've already practiced them. I do handstands, to make myself support my weight since I have nothing heavy enough in my room to lift. I continue stretching and flexing until I fall asleep again.

My breakfast comes the same as normal. The Avoxs are intrigued with me. They're not sure why I'm different out there and in here. But their eyes don't accuse me or mock me, they don't judge me at all. They just accept me and they help me in a way. Because every day, I am constantly reminded of the man who gave me hope.

…

We practice a few more things, then make our way to eat. Half-way through the meal I'm called. Wren has already gone before me. I have thought out what I would do, until I felt confident.

I stumble into the room with my eyes down until they tell me to begin. I make my way into the middle of the area and throw several knives that fall several feet short of or beyond the target. I hate the way I have to mess with my aim to get it to go so astray. I spend a few minutes tying some okay-looking knots before I am finally dismissed.

They ask me how it went, and I am, for once completely honest with them. I can see Wren's and Sibyll's faces fall, but Blight looks impassive and vacant still. It is kind of annoying really. He is supposed to be leading us!

We relax the rest of the day, and I open up a bit—but not too much. I carefully select what I'm going to say. Most importantly, I talk in a sad tone about how much I miss home.

After awhile, we become tense—or well they do. I'm sure I'll score nothing above a five and if it's even that high, I'll be shocked.

We wait the last ten anxious minutes before the scores are posted sitting in front of the TV. District one comes up, Agnar and Onyx, receive nines. Piper and Harris from two get an eight and nine. But Aeon the brute from three shows everyone up with his ten. His district partner Feora only gets a six. The tributes from District four do well, seven and eight. No one else makes higher than a six, until it gets to a Wren and the boy from District 10—even Flux only gets a six. I can see him take in a sharp breath as a large "8" appears on the screen. He's quickly congratulated before they announce my dismal score of three.

There's deathly silence as the rest of the scores go up—the boy from District 10's "8" and Sibyll looks like she wants to cry. Wren's hand reaches to mine, and I can hear it coming—he's going to ask to help me. "No." I say it firmly and get up and walk to my room.


	9. The Interview

**So here you go! This is the chapter of the Interviews. She's going to be launched next chapter. It might be a bit shorter than the usual chapter, but it should only be that one.**

**Hope you enjoy and please review!**

_**I'm underlying as we speak**_  
><em><strong>Hiding my face among the weak<strong>_

_**The mission—30 seconds to mars**_

Tomorrow. The part I've been dreading is tomorrow. I prepare myself for bed, stretching out my long limbs. I try to go over what I'm going to say when the interview starts. Nothing I come up with seems like it's going to be good enough to pull this off. I wish I could just skip it, get into the Arena already. My hatred, my desperation is flaming up inside me and I don't want any part of that to be spent before we begin.

I spend the rest of my evening in my typical routine. I order more food, and exercise until exhaustion forces me to sleep. As I fall asleep, I see an Avox girl picking up stuff around my room, or maybe I imagine it. Because as I'm falling asleep, it's not her—it's him. The one that haunts me, even now. I know I'll never be able to tell anyone about him, because they wouldn't understand, but he is my anchor—the only one in this section of the world that believes in me.

…

I wake up at my usual time, and grab something silky out of my closet. It's a dress I noticed on my first day in the room, I'd been wanting to wear it since I got here. It's a fierce red—like autumn leaves. My fingers slip over it with ease, and I love the feel beneath my fingers. It's simply the most exquisite dress I've ever seen. It's not contrived, but simple and fierce. I want to wear it now, but I can't. Placing it back in the closet, I decide that I'll take it back with me when I go home. It's the one part of the Capitol I want to take with me, besides the food.

I fumble around for a few more minutes before I bring out a pale green dress. I slip it on, and it has the effect I hoped for. It makes me look younger and thinner than I am—what most tributes would be trying to hide. Before I am summoned, I make my way down to breakfast—already having eaten my own.

I sit at the table for probably twenty minutes, drinking a steaming hot cup of coffee before Sibyll, Blight and Wren walk in.

"There you are," Wren's voice is worried but relieved I'm here. Maybe he thinks I've resolved to try or something.

But my mind is made up, and I launch into my words before he has time to build steam. "I don't want to be coached."

I am greeted in silence until Sibyll objects, "But—but this can help you get sponsors." She seems mystified at my words.

"I don't _want_ sponsors," I hear Wren opening his mouth to object before Blight cuts in.

"We can't help her anymore, just let her be. Our time is wasted on her." I want to hug him, because he's saying exactly what I need to be said. That I don't need them, not like he's suggesting because I am past help, but because I am beyond their help. My plan lays further along and they can't help me anymore. But to them, it looks like Blight has given up all hope on me, but for me—he's given me the help I need to pull this off. For the first time, I feel some kind of warmness for Blight.

Wren is on his feet, "You're our mentor! You're supposed to help us both! Not play favorites!" His face is scarlet as he screams at Blight.

Blight sits there and looks unperturbed, "We always have favorites Wren. _Always_. I'm just being honest. We can't help her anymore, you're the one who can benefit by it."

Sibyll's lips are trembling, "Blight…"

"Enough," he pours a glass of wine for himself, then the rest of us. "To the beginning of the end!" He holds his glass in the air then drains it.

I lift mine without hesitation and drink it a bit more slowly. It's not that good tasting, kind of tart and bitter. But after a few more sips, it's grown on me. Wren is standing there still fuming, and I hazard another stream of words though I can feel a kind of rosy feeling settling over me. "It's what I want. Let me do this for you." Because as much as I don't need help, he needs sponsors—he needs more resources. He is not weak, but he is not as desperate as I am. Desperation goes a long way, it's what I'm counting on to help me through this.

I can see him struggling though, "One of us has to die." I say it slowly, and he knows I think me. But I mean him. I feel emotion choke up in me for a second and cast my eyes down. "Just…let me do this."

"Fine," his voice is bitter as he sits down. The rest of the meal goes by in silence.

…

My afternoon is spent training my body in my room. By now, I'm excelling at them. I know the weapons of the Arena will have a slightly different weight and feel, but this is as close as I can get. Besides, I have other plans on that for the matter. I munch throughout the day until early afternoon when there's a knock at the door.

I hesitate, not knowing what to do when I hear his voice—it's Blight. There's no need to hide my plates of food from him. I push away a tray, and walk to the door and yank it open. He comes in and closes it behind himself as I go back to eating. "What do you want?" I snap. It feels so good to be free to talk like myself.

Blight laughs lightly, he's assessing me. "So I've had a little talk with your stylist. There wont' be any problem with your wardrobe tonight. I told her not to spend as much time on you. To make you look girlish and weak. She's not pleased, but she's happier to able to work on Wren more."

"Good," I'm truly happy I have less time with the horror squad.

"You've put on weight well," he nods again absentmindedly. "They're coming in thirty minutes. Get this stuff cleared out. I'll see you after the interview." He looks at me one more time, holding his mouth in that odd way as if he's deciding to say something. But I can see he's decided not to as he speaks again, "Know what you're going to say?"

"Of course," and as he heads to the door I speak again. "When I go home, that red dress in the closet is going with me."

He nods as he walks out the door, and I am left to eat my food in a hurry.

…

I spend the next two hours being fixed up into a cream dress, my body dusted with something that makes my skin shinier and paler. My face is angled and it looks more boney and haunted than I ever remember being. It's a hungry face, and for a moment I'm scared of it. They'll see right through it, they'll see the real kind of hunger I have.

But Blight and Verity are the only ones in here, and he's carefully telling Verity what to do. She's not very happy about it, but she does it. "More shadows around her eyes. Make her face thinner around her cheeks—sharper cheekbones."

He stands back a few feet assessing me, and I'm amazed at this very interested Blight studying me. "I think that'll do."

I hear Verity's whispery voice asking, "Are you sure this is the look you want her to have?"

Blight looks at her for a moment, "I've only asked you to do this twice before." I see her eyes widen, and I want to ask why and what, but hold my tongue.

She's blinking back tears, "Of course. We'll keep this to ourselves," she pushes back her purple hair from her dark skin. Then she's turned to me, not able to look at me, "Good luck Johanna."

She leaves and Blight says one more thing, "Don't mess up your make-up this time. It's important."

…

We're on the stage, and Caesar's hair is dyed an awful maroon, like dried blood. I'm sitting there staring as if I'm not interested in anything. It's easier to keep my face blank while I stare. I listen as Caesar questions Onyx. She's playing the siren angle with her blond curly hair and alluring dress. Agnar follows with his gruff and rugged sex appeal, tossing his shaggy hair back and winking at the ladies in the audience. You can practically hear them swoon.

Piper, the girl from District 2, is closer to my size—practically small for the careers (but still a good thirty pounds heavier at least). She plays up the brainy charade, mussing her dark hair and getting excited about technical things—disregarding some of the other tributes because of their stupidity. Quite a brash approach really. Harris comes up next, he's very fit and good-natured seeming. He's not the typical District 2 tribute, he's likeable really.

District 3 comes up, Feora. She's meek, very humbled by her whole experience—a little scared and overwhelmed by it, but she's very convincing. Then Aeon is up, and he's a brute that flashes a silky smile, his dark hair and tanned skin. He's aggressive, but charismatic. He's sure of himself and despite how frightening he is there's something both compelling and disturbing. You can't help but want to know what it is though you're terrified to find out. The full power of it hit when he answered Caesar's question of how was he going to win the games. The flash of brilliant teeth, that cruel but compelling laugh, "I'm going to kill them all, of course."

I don't really pay attention until Flux from District 6 is on. She's very pale, almost ivory and her hair black as soot. She's not hiding it now—she's cold, malicious. She talks of the ways, she'll kill them.

He questions the boy from six and then I'm standing up. I hear a sigh from the audience. I look very frail in my long dress—better to cover my muscular legs with. The angles of my face are lit up on the screen, and I look very young and hungry. Yet, it doesn't show the type of hunger I have.

Caesar gives a sigh, hand on his heart after his handshake with me. "Tell me sweet Johanna, what are you feeling right now?"

My eyes are cast down as I speak, "I'm scared. I want to go _home._"

"Is there someone back home waiting for you?"

I squeeze my eyes shut, and force the tears out. "I can't—can't talk about it Caesar. I just…can't." I let out a half-sob.

"There, there dear. What are you going to do in the Arena?" He's trying to find some angle on me, but I won't give him anything.

I look up at him, my shoulders still slumped. "I—there's nothing to do but wait till it's over. I know what's going to happen to me."

"What's that Johanna?"

I smile a very little smile, "Caesar don't tease. Can't you guess what I mean?"

The buzzer goes off, and he shakes my hand as I go to sit back down.

Wren is on the stage. He's playing up a different kind of mysterious angle. He acts like he's holding something back and never comments on exactly what he means but gives winks before he ends with, "Don't count me out yet."

The only other one I pay attention to is the boy from District 10, he's very capable. He talks about the tending he does back home, and how it shouldn't be any change really to kill in the arena—"They're all just cattle anyways."

…

Sibyll is congratulating Wren as we head back. We're all sitting at the table, but I know my meal is already waiting in my room and I'm desperate to get back. Putting my napkin down, I nod my head. "Thank you for all the help, Sibyll. Blight." And I turn to leave. I am half-way down the hall when Wren catches me.

"Wait," his hand is on my elbow. "Jo." I'm opening my mouth to quiet him, but he just says. "I want to say goodbye." He lets his hand fall, and I just look at him. "Give me a hug will you Jo?"

"Why?" I look at him a bit confused.

"You're the closest thing I have to home, Jo…and now more than ever you look like my sister. Or how she looked." I can see the tears in his eyes. So that was why he was trying to protect me, I reminded him of a dead sister.

Gently, I lean against him, and we wrap our arms around each other, "Good luck." I whisper it and I hear him echo it back, even though we both know in the end we might have to kill each other.

After a few more minutes of standing there, we part and I am in my room. I change to my clothes and decide that it'd be better to just sleep tonight. I'm afraid I won't sleep well at all, but I eat my meal until I'm ready to burst. Then snuggling down into the blankets, I sleep without a dream, without a stir until the dawn.


	10. I am the Darkness

**Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.****  
><strong>**Edgar Allan Poe**

I awake right as there's a knock at my door. Verity's assistant is there and she gives me a thin gown to put on until I'm prepared for the Arena. We make our way down the ghostly hallways, and it's like I'm a ghost already. We don't encounter another soul. I can feel my heart beating wildly. I feel like a caged animal, I want to thrash at my bars—bite, rip, tear, shred, and even kill.

In no time, we're on the hovercraft and I'm served a huge feast of food. I don't have to keep up the charade anymore, so I dig in with gusto even though I'm nervous. I don't eat as much as usual, because I know that soon I'll be running and I don't want to make myself sick.

The assistant, I think her name is Amee, helps me into my uniform for the Arena. It's made up of a medium brown long sleeved shirt, and pair of tan fitted pants. The shoes are made of leather, but seem closer to moccasins than boots. They're very similar to the boots I have at home, for work in the woods except there we have to wear snake chaps.

I eat some more food, and drink after every bite until I feel satisfied I've eaten as much as I can without getting sick. Amee is very silent, and then we're in the launch room. I can feel the adrenaline pumping in my veins. I'm starting to feel a bit nervous as I start playing with the leather ring around my finger. Ivan. Grandma. Sven. Greta. Home.

And it's time. I'm standing there in the tube that will take me up to the Arena. The glass hasn't lowered yet, when I see Amee take out something. She opens it, it's a hologram—a recording of Blight. "Johanna, let's not lie to each other anymore."

I can't help but wonder what he's talking about, "You know your brother could have won his games." I can feel something rising in my chest. "I was the one who told him to play up his strengths, to rub it in their faces. I told him to go in strong against his better judgment. I got him killed. I thought you should know that before the end."

The something rising in my chest peaks as the tube slides down over me. I am lunging at it screaming, "I"LL KILL YOU! I"LL COME BACK JUST TO KILL YOU!" I had always felt deep in my heart that my brother wouldn't have been so obvious, that he wouldn't lie, but that he wouldn't be so aggressive and flaunting of his skills. "I'LL KILL YOU BLIGHT! WHEN I GET BACK, I"LL KILL YOU!"

And then there is darkness. It envelopes me as I'm going up to the arena. I stop screaming, my hands against the glass for a moment. I hate him, I'll kill him. I'll come back, if for no other reason now to kill him.

The darkness is all around me. I feel as if there's not any light left anywhere. It's only fifteen seconds till the surface.

But in fifteen seconds you can feel an eternity.

The darkness, the hate that I started to feel in my chest as Blight began to talk has overcome me completely. It's not just a spark or an ember, it's an overwhelming out of control fire surging within me. It's coursing through my veins and my whole body is screaming, waiting to release it. I can't hold it in.

Fourteen more seconds to go.

I feel surges of adrenaline, and I'm anxious to be out and running. I'm ready to kill, to show them who I really am. I want them to see that I am a monster, I am what they should fear not Aeon or Piper or Harris or Agnar or Onyx—or any of them. I'm itching to find a weapon, to bloody my hands with their blood. To destroy them.

Thirteen more seconds to go.

I hate you. I hate you Blight. I think of how I'll kill him when I'm back. He took from me one of the things I love most in the world, how best could I destroy him? Did he love anyone? No, I don't think I've ever seen him care for anyone. For that matter, he's not happy—not really, I don't think. Even if I kill him, I'll take much less from him than he has from me.

Twelve more seconds to go.

Will the darkness never end? Will there ever be light again? Will I ever even get a chance to come back to my family? Maybe I'm already in the Arena and it's pitch black. We'll just have to kill each other in the darkness and feel around, not knowing what's coming or what's happening.

Ten more seconds to go.

The anxiety is overwhelming. But I'm not me anymore. I'm Johanna. I'm part of the darkness. I've always been part of the darkness. The Johanna in the light never existed, she was never happy. She was never anything more than animal. Never anything more than a monster lurking in the dark, waiting to be feed by the blood of my victims.

Eight more seconds to go.

I'm not sure if I feel anything anymore. I feel dead already. Am I entombed in this tube? Surely, I'm not ever coming out of here. I'll never eat. never see light again, never get out of this place…

Five seconds to go.

It starts again, the burning surging anger. And it's more intense than before. The games had to happen, the people of the Capitol had to have a game. I'd be out of here, and I must be ready. I must be ready.

The fire burns fiercer and hotter. The rage. The anger, The urge for home, and I'm perfectly still. Any moment, I'll break out into the sunlight. I have to be ready—I have to be ready.

Three seconds to go.

I close my eyes so that that way I can adjust quicker to the light. I am ready. My fingers are tingling. I can hear the swish of air.

I know I'm there.

I am in the arena.

I open my eyes.


	11. Let the Games Begin!

**Sorry this one took a bit. Not because the writing part was long, it was done relatively shortly. However, there's been some IRL drama. Our air conditioning went out—and here is not exactly a place you can live without it. So we had to get our cats and come to my mom's. The guy is out tomorrow to see what he can do. We think it was hit by lightening.**

**My dad is also got some post-op infection and I just don't feel good. But I finally felt good enough and got enough time to finish this up.**

**Thank you for all the reviews! Keep them coming! I'll be replying to them in the next few days, and be prepared for next chapter where Johanna makes her FIRST kill.**

**No one ever guessed it, but someone did get to pick a name. XD More about that in the bottom of the next chapter.**

**Hop you enjoy!**

_**I found tomorrow in today**__**  
><strong>__**Apocalyptic and insane, my dreams will never change**__**  
><strong>__**You wanna be the one in control**__**  
><strong>__**You wanna be the one who's alive**__**  
><strong>__**You wanna be the one who gets old**__**  
><strong>__**It's not a matter of luck, it's just a matter of time**__****_

_**Stand out on the edge of the earth**__****_

_**[Chorus:]**__**  
><strong>__**Stand out on the edge of the earth**__**  
><strong>__**Dive into the center of fate**__**  
><strong>__**Walk right in the sight of a gun**__**  
><strong>__**Look into the new future's face**__****_

_**I know you know enough to say**__**  
><strong>__**I know you know enough to play a game**_

_**Edge of the Earth—30 Seconds to Mars**_

My eyes adjust quickly to the light in the arena. The sun is high in the air, but the wind is still kind of chilled as I look around. There is a vast expanse to the Cornucopia—thirty or forty yards that is completely open. But everywhere around us apart from that, as far as I can see are trees.

The Cornucopia is piled high with riches all around it. There are varying layers of supplies at different distances, but I have decided against the bloodbath that will take place up there. I will be running parallel and straight into the treeline far to my left.

I don't allow myself to look too long at the treasure because I can't risk it even though what I need most is a bottle of water and weapons. My muscles tighten as I wait, I need to wait about five seconds past the others to begin my run, let them get ahead of me so I can run behind them and parallel.

The gong sounds.

Everyone surges forward but me, I wait as long as I dare—only three seconds and begin running to the far left across the field to the thicket of trees that look like the ones back home. My heels are digging in catching speed, when I see someone stumbling my way. I slow down long enough, to pull their bag off as they start to fall. I'm almost on my way again when I see that knife glistening out of the dying tribute's back. I grab it by the hilt, hearing a tortured scream before I am off again.

I'm almost into the woods when I see something flying at me. Throwing up my hand, I'm able to stop most of the blow by batting away the thrown knife—a new height of stupid on my part. I can feel the skin tear on my hand, as the blood begins to pour out of it. But I don't stop, not until I'm a good thirty feet in.

I hazard a quick glance into the bag as my eyes dart around like an animal's. There's some bandage and some tape, a good deal of it. I don't even bother at looking at anything else. I take just enough time to get the bandage in place and wrap around the tape twice before I throw it back in my bag and I'm running again.

There's not enough distance or space that will make me feel safe. I gather as much speed as I can, knife in my left hand and one in my belt as I weave through the trees. It's like some weird dance of speed and agility because the trunks and limbs are so close together. I'm sure anyone watching me is thinking I'm crazed by fear, but I am filled with a plan.

The first part of that plan is to go as far and as fast as I can while they're still fighting. I'm quick, and I know I can stay ahead of them as long as I don't take any long breaks. This is my terrain, the kind of land I've grown up on.

After an hour of running as fast as I can, I find a stream. I pause a few feet from it warily looking around. After deciding it's safe, I find a bottle in my pack to put my water in. I fill it up and drop some iodine in. It smells clean enough, but I won't risk it if they've provided us with this. I hate being forced to stay here, when I should be running. The tenuous lead I have gained is wasting away.

Peeling off the soaked bandage on my hand, I wash my hand clean in the water. The cut is all the way to the bone. I'm going to have to be very careful to keep it from getting infected. Besides for pain, no real damage seems to have been done. Luckily it hit at the thinnest part, so little if any muscle was touched-but I'm sure of one thing, besides for hitting the bone it seems to have quite possibly broken it.

I rummage around in the pack with my left hand and find the first aide kit again. There's a few fever pills, plenty of bandage, and a tube of antibacterial ointment. Figuring that it couldn't hurt, I squeeze a huge gob into the open wound before I begin to wrap it. Even though it limits my mobility, I make sure it's heavily padded since it's throbbing from pain since the adrenaline wore off, is making my head ache horribly.

As the water is finally ready for me to drink, I start chugging it as fast as I can. A cannon booms and I'm off of my heels and looking around for whatever is near by.

Then I realize, the fighting at the Cornucopia has _just_ ended. They're still mostly behind me then. The cannon booms a total of eight times, but I don't' even bother trying to figure out who or where or anything like that—I down the rest of my bottle before filling it up and putting the iodine in.

I need to get moving.

…

I spend the next few hours between running, jogging, and walking. The plain and simple fact is I don't feel safe enough yet, I want as much distance between myself and them at first as possible, no matter how tired it makes me. My feet are aching, and my hand is throbbing terribly as I keep on, but the adrenaline pounding in my ears pushes me.

Luckily, I haven't run into anything that is threatening creature wise, though I've seen plenty of game. I'm not really skilled in hunting at all. Liam was excellent at hunting, what little he had ever snuck out to do. But I on the other hand, was very good at luring. I'd have to depend on that for food or just sheer determination if I wound up hunting.

…

I've been in the Arena what I guess is about seven hours, and I'm exhausted. The sun is still up high, but in another two hours it'll be heading down. I've gone as far as I can go today. I walk another hundred feet or so forward, and double back through another part of woods to a tree I saw earlier, that way if anyone can follow my light trail then they'll see I didn't stop here but kept right on going.

It's going to be much harder than I had hoped with this hand. It's swollen and bruising, but I readjust the bag on my shoulder and begin to climb up the tree. There's no branches here, not until about fifteen feet up, so I struggle unlike how I would usually. I'm careful not to scruff off the bark, it's an advantage of growing up light and growing up in District 7.

I make my camp about thirty feet up. Wrapping my legs around a branch, I look to see what else is in my bag. There's the first aid kit, the iodine, a pack of crackers, and a pair of gloves. Taking the right one out, I slip it over my hand for extra padding, and I know it probably won't be long till I'll be using the other one—if they've given us gloves it's going to get cold, very cold.

Deciding against waiting, I eat the whole pack of crackers. I haven't eaten since this morning. After all the running, I've done needed something just to keep the edge off my stomach before it starts growling very loudly.


	12. Why don't you die!

**Due to the graphic nature of this chapter, I'm giving a forewarning. It's not…erm…short—the death I mean.**

**_Be sure I look'd up at her eyes_**

**_Happy and proud; at last I knew_**

**_Porphyria worshipp'd me; surprise_**

**_Made my heart swell, and still it grew_**

**_While I debated what to do._**

I feel the heat seeping out of the air as I'm sitting in my tree. The sun isn't even down yet, and I know most of the tributes are probably freezing. Back home, our winters are bitter so I know I'm faring better at least then Districts 4 and 11, who aren't use to such cold. And, I can feel myself smiling, it's only going to get colder.

I reorder the small bag again, though it really doesn't need it. How many times can you reorder a bottle of water, iodine, and a first aid kit?

The throbbing in my hand has intensified with the cold, and I fidget back through the first aid kit—bandages, antibacterial cream, fever pills, and something for an upset stomach. I shake the bottle of fever pills—there seem to be about three or four dozen in there. I'm hoping I won't ever have to take them, because that'll mean my hand or something else is infected.

I don't have as much as I want, but more than I expected to get. After a few moments of considering, I decide on something that might aide me at some point. Sticking the hilt of the knife in my branch, I pull my hair out of its bun and pull it back up a short distance from the top of my head. It's an obnoxiously high ponytail like that Onyx girl. But I have a purpose with mine as I braid it tightly. Fastening it at the end, I snatch up the knife with my left hand and hold the ponytail with my right.

Wincing, I began to cut through the hair as close to my head as possible. It's uneven, but this isn't a beauty contest. I'm sad to see my hair go, but I'm not exactly doing this for nothing.

As I saw through the last bit, I feel the braid release from my head. Bringing it down, I see the long braid of hair that I've sacrificed to have some rope. I'm not sure how much good it'll do me, but I feel better just having it.

…

The sun sinks below the horizon, as I'm massaging some warmth back into one of my legs. I've been doing this every few minutes. My outfit doesn't look like much, but it does hold some warmth. Enough that I'm not going to freeze to death, but not enough to keep me warm. I'm sure they planned it this way.

But at least, I'm safe and alone.

No sooner have I uttered the words in my mind, when I hear something. Holding my breath, I listen intently hoping I just imagined it. Yet, unmistakably it's the sound of footsteps coming closer.

I wait, because that's the only thing I can do.

His footsteps are soft as they approach, but I knew he was coming. Maybe it was because I hadn't heard another sound for hours—not even my own voice. Or maybe it was some intuitive sense? It doesn't matter really, because he's in sight now. He's tall and darker skinned—sun browned really. His hair is dark black in this light. It's then I place who he is. He's the boy from District 10. I think his name is…Griffin. Something bird-like anyways.

Thoughts of birds, make my mind drift to Wren unwillingly and how I will have to kill him.

But I can't think of that now, because Griffin is making camp only twenty feet from the bottom of my tree. At any moment, he could look up and see me. At any moment, he could try to kill me. I'm itching to kill him. I hate this treed feeling, but in only a moment my heart is racing and the urge to kill is not just an itch—it's a lust to kill him.

Because in his hand, he is gripping an axe—_my_ axe.

My mind is whirring trying to figure how I can get down the tree and to him without him noticing and then kill him without him killing me with the axe. The odds are in his favor right now, he's unwounded, bigger, not in a tree, and his weapon is better. What do I have that can give me an edge?

I am light, and I'm sure footed and silent. I am strong, much stronger than people suspect—my grandmother calls it "wirey". But what gives me the most edge is that I am desperate. I am ruthless.

I can feel it washing over me again, empowering me. I can feel the rage building in me, and I try to imagine that he's not only standing in my way but that he's Blight. This is only a practice of how I'll make Blight suffer.

All I have to do is wait.

It's much easier than you expect, waiting. I watch as he makes his little camp. He's got a sleeping bag and a pack. It'll be mine soon though. I watch as he eats something as I keep rubbing warmth back into my legs. It's then I notice him pulling out a jacket. He's slipping it on, when there's a sudden sound.

It's what I've been waiting for. The nightly announcement.

As the anthem plays, I scramble down the tree quickly and quietly. I'm clenching my teeth because my hand is throbbing so badly. My knife is in my belt where I can grip it easily. But I am walking with the short braided rope of hair between my hands.

My muscles are protesting as I'm sneaking up on him. He's standing there, looking up at the sky—his back to where I'm approaching from. I can smell the food he's laid down as I'm approaching and my stomach is threatening to growl loudly.

He's only a few inches taller than me, so when I reach up I don't have to stand on tip toe. The anthem is just ending, as my hands rush down on either side of him, drawing the rope tight around his neck while I kick hard at the back of his knees.

It's so simple in mind really, killing someone. But it's so much harder in real life. There's messy feelings and miscalculated plans—too many things to plan for.

I had thought that when I would put the rope around his neck and kicked him forward, that with the force of him going forward and the weight of me pulling back would snap his neck. But I was wrong. His body weight is too much, and I'm sent careening on top of him. The axe in his hand goes flying about a foot away.

His surprise is evident, but he recovers quickly but not quite as quickly as I have. I lean back pulling hard, groaning with the sheer effort and the pain in my hand that's escalating. My knee in the back of his neck is providing some leverage, but I'm not prepared for his hands.

The rope is shorter than I hoped. It makes it around his neck, but doesn't give me much more than that. I'm pulling his neck so hard it's thrown back, while his chest and upper body are being pushed down with my knee firmly pressed into the area beneath his neck.

His fingers are clawing behind him, like a trapped animal. There's this odd gurgling coming from him as his fingers are digging into my knee. I can feel the fabric tearing as he digs into my skin. I feel the warmth as blood starts to pool. But I have expected him to fight, and I'm ready for it. I pull back harder and harder. I know it won't take that long for him to die, and I've got the upper hand.

But now his fingers are digging into my forearms, he can't get his hands close enough to my wrists or my fingers. He's carving trails into my arm, and I'm gritting my teeth trying not to scream as he shreds my skin with what feels like claws.

Then it happens. The fingers dig less and less. I'm sure he's only seconds away from dying now. His fingers are fumbling, and his weight is falling against the rope—helping me to strangle him until he doesn't struggle at all. He's just limp.

I feel triumph surge in me as I wait for the cannon to boom, but nothing happens. He's limp, but apparently he's not dead.

I pull tighter. My muscles are aching. I'm getting a little scared now. What if he's holding his breath? What if he's faking being dead until I let go?

I can't let go. I can't, not until I hear the cannon.

I grit my teeth harder and pull back even more. He doesn't struggle though, I don't even hear the muffled gurgling anymore. He's absolutely still. What's happening?

My resolve is wavering. It's one thing to kill someone while they fight against you. But it's another to do it like this. Then I remember my grandmother telling me a few years ago at the last hanging how if the fall didn't kill you, you'd suffocate. I asked her what she meant.

I remember it now. She said that after ten or fifteen seconds you passed out from it, there wasn't enough air to maintain your body in an aware state. But that you didn't die until three minutes later—sometimes longer.

My body has started to shake now. I will have to endure at least another two minutes of this. I can't let them see my fear, as much as the revulsion is hitting me now of this slow way to die, I can't stop. I'll be weak—I'll be…so many things. But they'll think the shaking is effort, as long as I keep gritting my teeth so they won't chatter.

The strength and rage are leaving me now. I'm struggling to keep holding on. I'm exhausted, I'm cold and I'm in pain. His heavy weight is pulling him forward and I'm struggling harder than I ever have before.

I find my rage again, my voice is whispering, "Die! Why won't you die!" It sounds menacing, terrible the way it's coming from my throat. But I hate him for clinging on and making me have to exert so much more strength to kill him.

The next minutes pass, but they're like hours—years. Something inside me is breaking down. Some part of my humanity is shutting off, and I'm part animal already. As I hold his limp body and choke the life out of him, I realize that there is nothing that I won't do now. Nothing can stand in my way now, not after what I'm doing. There's nothing—as far as murder goes, that's worse than this.

I'm past feeling sick, now I'm just tired and waiting. But now, I can hold on for hours if I have to. My teeth are gritted, I'm groaning because my hand is aching and blood is soaking the bandage. When the cannon booms, it takes me almost a full ten seconds to realize he's dead before I let go. Griffin is dead.

Falling on top of his limp body, I crawl forward as swiftly as my winded body can. My fingers fall on the axe and I take a minute to just breathe. I'm not scared anymore. Even if they find me like this, I can kill them. I have my axe. I am ready.

_**Be sure I look'd up at her eyes**_

_**Happy and proud; at last I knew**_

_**Porphyria worshipp'd me; surprise**_

_**Made my heart swell, and still it grew**_

_**While I debated what to do.**_

_**That moment she was mine, mine, fair,**_

_**Perfectly pure and good: I found**_

_**A thing to do, and all her hair**_

_**In one long yellow string I wound**_

_**Three times her little throat around,**_

_**And strangled her. No pain felt she;**_

_**I am quite sure she felt no pain.**_

_**Porphyria's Lover by Robert Browning**_

**A/N: So there you have it. Her first kill and it's vicious. It took a bit to write out, and I'm afraid I experienced more of her anxiety than I had hoped to when writing it.**

**I think this changed the game for her. But it's not quite the worse she has to do. You'll see though. **

**Sorry that it's so long, but I hate how shows always do it so wrong. Ligature strangulation is not an easy death for someone to die of it, someone has to hold on for a long time. It can still happen as an accident, but there is a point where you just don't let go—no matter what the reason (caught up in the moment, etc). It's not an easy way to die.**

**And that was the point of this chapter. I know what it's like to not be able to breathe and pass out thinking you're never going to wake up again though mine was medical rather than any form of strangulation or anything. The point is, not being able to breathe—not fun.**

**Please review! Let me know what you think!**

**Leia 96 was the only person to guess and was therefore awarded with naming the tribute from District 10. Thank you dear!**


	13. The Fox in Her Den

**This is a much needed respite chapter. Johanna reveals a little bit more of her plans, and I mean only a little bit. This is just the beginning of the mounting tension over the next few chapters. I'm already playing with the next few chapters (all at once) to make sure it ends up right. Some very interesting forshadowing just might be happening soon.**

**But enough of that!**

**Thanks for the lovely reviews, I'll be responding to them very shortly.**

**And please keep reviewing and recommend! Hope you enjoy this chapter. **

_**I wondered vaguely if this was when it would end, whether I would pull up tonight's darkness like a quilt and be dead and at peace evermore.**____**  
><strong>__**William Manchester**_

As I lay there panting for breath, no one comes. I'm almost disappointed, because I'm as far past human as I've ever felt—I could kill anyone in any way at this point. So I lay there for five minutes, while I know the hovercraft is waiting to descend.

Propelling myself forward, I grab a hold of his bag. There's a small piece of meat and cheese on top that he'd been eating. I notice, as I'm shoving it in my mouth, that it has his teeth marks on it. The small bite brings a resurgence of strength as it hits my empty stomach.

Sitting up, I shove my bag inside of his and put it back on my back. Carefully, not letting go of the axe, I check his pockets. There's nothing there I want but a pack of jerky. I pop a piece in my mouth to chew on while I shove the rest in my pocket.

It takes a lot of effort, but I'm pulling the jacket free of him. I slip it on, feeling the heat of it from his still warm body—it's nice and toasty in it. It's big enough that it covers me and the backpack—his is so heavy that it staggers me as I stand. He must have made out good at the Cornucopia, but now is not the time to look. The jacket falls down to mid thigh, and it's only just a little big. I push up the sleeves and they stay in place without any problem.

I check him over one more time, my breathing is almost normal now. The last thing I take from him is his pair of boots. The axe feels good in my hands as I disappear in the woods with my hood up and tight around my face. Both of my hands are resting on the axe, as I creep through the woods with barely a sound. My feet don't give so much as a rustle away as I'm walking amongst piles of pine straw. It's like moving amongst the trees back home, just another game my brother and I use to play—who could be the quietest.

My legs are icy as I move, but my upper body is warm though aching. My right hand is stiff and excruciating, but a bit more padded and warm in the glove. I move the fingers of my left hand gently; the gloves hold so much heat but don't restrict my movements much in this weather. Little by little, my stiff and sore body limbers up as I walk. It feels good to be moving again, because now that I've got my weapon I can move on to part two of my plan—wait them out. I've known hungry, so I can do with very little food if I have to—but by the weight of his pack, I think he's grabbed lots of good stuff. After all, he may have been arrogant but he was not stupid, or at least not stupid enough to leave behind food.

…

It takes me hours to find a place that I like. My legs are aching, and my eyes are heavy. It's taken me all night to get here and though I'm eager to rest, to sleep, I force myself to stay awake and alert. Ahead of me is a large lake, the water looks cool and inviting; but, who else might be here?

Though it tortures me, I wait a full hour watching the trees—the whole area to see any movement at all as I lay there in the cold dirt. But no one's there, and no one comes. Easing myself stiffly to my knees I look once more before I make a complete circle of the lake—luckily it's heavily wooded.

Still, nothing is there. Picking a dense spot of what I recognize as Frazier Firs, I drop to my stomach and crawl beneath them. I can feel the low hanging branches catching on my back, but I push forward as I'm showered with needles.

After a while, I come to a tree right on the edge whose branches overhang the water some. I take a deep breathe, the water smells clean enough. I reach my hand in to test it—it's cold but nothing wrong with it. Draining the last dregs of water from my bottle, I dip it in the lake in safety then add my iodine drops.

Crawling back a few yards into the tree, I lay on my back and look up at where the sky should be—but all I see is branches. Perfect. Taking out my small knife, I start cutting off the lowest branches of the trees around me. There's enough room for me to lay flat in this spot, if I lay at a slight angle. As I take off the lowest branches, I'm careful to make sure that the removal of each one doesn't open up any sky to me. It's just as I suspected, the trees are so dense I'd have to cut up about six foot to break into sky. But I don't even risk that, I only cut off enough branches that in my little area I can sit up some.

It's and odd kind of layout, just tall enough to sit in but not really any sort of natural shape. I have to bend my legs around this or that trunk to lay out, but it's comfortable enough. But most of all, it's safe.

Taking the branches I've taken down, I make myself a small nest to sleep on. But as much as my body aches to give in to sleep, there's a few more things I must do.

First, I creep back out the way I came and make sure to cover up my tracks. It's then that I see the tiny parachute falling from the sky.

At first, I'm wary. My hand is on my axe, because I don't have sponsors. Who else is in the area? But as I wait a few minutes, I realize it has to be mine. Reaching out a tentative hand, I snatch it back into my den. But I watch for ten more minutes, before I'm content no one else is near by.

Crawling back to my area, I sit down clutching the tiny little parachute in my hand. Taking off my coat, I pull off the backpack before pulling the jacket back on. I dig around for a few minutes, hoping that maybe there's some kind of flashlight in there. I'm rewarded for my efforts when my fingers alight on a good sized flashlight. Taking it out, I carefully point the light down between my legs and the backpack—reducing the risk of it being seen, if it can even be seen in this area. I pin the light to my shoulder with my chin before I turn it on.

As the light flickers on, my left hand is fumbling for the parachute. After a few moments, I find myself looking at a curved needle and some silky thin thread. I recognize it from back home; it's the finer thread they use for stitches.

Peeling off the bandage of my hand, I grab some bandages and my bottle of water. Dampening a bandage, I clean out the wound as best as I can. The pain is radiating in my body, and I'm sweating as I try to finish cleaning.

As soon as I'm done, before I can lose my nerve, I thread the needle and begin. The skin is so tender that when I touch the needle to it, it's all I can do not to scream. I push past it as I grit my teeth, letting a groan escape.

Shakily, I pull the thread through until I feel the knot touching my skin. Half of a little "X" on my skin, as I sit there, shaking a little. I grip the needle tighter, and make the other line to finish the stitch.

One stitch down, five more to go.

As I do the next stitch, it's even more tender than the last. I can feel the little food in my stomach threatening to come back up, not from anything but pain. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath, knowing that every eye in Panem is on me. They're looking at signs of weakness, looking for the weak girl they thought they knew.

I let out a low curse, as I find my fingers plunging the needle into the skin angrily to finish the stitch. The sweat is dripping down my skin as I do the next one. My vision swims for a moment, but I clamp my shaking arm between my knees, as I proceed on.

I will finish them, they can take their eyes off of me. I'm done with them looking at me. Just three more Johanna. Just three freaking more!

The needle plunges again and again and each time, I think I'm going to pass out. But I keep going, best to get it over with. My hands are shaking badly when I loop off and tie the end of the stitch. I make sure it's secure before I put a light coat of ointment over it put more bandage on it. I don't want to catch it on anything while I'm out here.

Holding my arm up close to me, I note the cuts on my arms from Griffin's fingers. They've scrapped long gashes, that could probably have stitches themselves, but I'm not wasting my thread with my hand in such bad shape. Wetting another bandage, I clean out the cuts on my arms before I shimmy out of my pants to get the ones on my legs. I dab some more of the antibacterial stuff on there before I'm done.

Finally, I am able to look into the bag like I've longed for. Pulling out my small bag, I begin to look through the stuff he's gathered. There's the sleeping bag I'd seen briefly and a pack of batteries, probably a spare for the light. I stop then and there to test them to make sure I'm right, and I am.

The bag contains a bunch of food. Three more packs of jerky, an opened roll of cheese, two loaves of fresh bread, and there's some kind of meat in there. I'm not sure what it is, but it should keep for at least a few days in this weather. There's a curved knife, another water bottle, matches, and a small coin.

I pick it up and look at it. It's some kind of old currency that I've never seen. Then it hits me, it's his token. If I had known, I'd have left it with him to take back to his family. But now, it's here with me. I shove the small piece into my pocket. It's better than leaving it here at least.

Maybe some day, I'll get it back to his people. But I know I probably won't. I know it'll probably be with me till the day I die, haunting me and reminding me of the awful way he died.

I push everything back into the bag, and take out what seems to be a thick leg of meat. I feel confident the meat will keep well, but I'll eat as much of the perishable stuff as I can over the next two days. No sense taking a risk.

…

My hand is greasy as I finish. I crawl back to the lake, and it can't be but two hours from dawn now as I lay there looking over the lake. I fill and use the iodine on the spare bottle then I clean my face and hand and crawl back to my little den. I slip the back pack back on, and arrange myself in my sleeping bag. My eyes are wide, as I wait for sleep to come and the pain to ebb.

And without failing, it descends on me heavily. I can't help but wonder, if I'll wake up again, or if this arena will be my tomb too.


	14. Are You Watching Closely?

**Only a short note this time, I hope you enjoy the tension and the itty bitty cliffhanger. I promise, the next chapter is going to be…well, you'll see. I do think you'll love it though.**

**As always, keep reviewing and may the odds be in your favour!**

"**Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer-both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams."****  
><strong>**―****Bram Stoker****,**_**Dracula**_

The mist is creeping off the lake, and it's just past dawn when an odd sound reaches my ears. It's like something is part slithering and part dragging across the ground. My eyes are wide and alert, but when I reach for it, my axe is gone and in it's place is the length of rope I made from my hair.

What's going on?

That's when I see it. He's here.

I can feel my heart catch, and throb against my rib cage as if it's going to explode. This can't be happening. It can't be real. It can't be real.

But he's there. Griffin is here!

He's on his stomach, crawling beneath the branches of my hiding spot. There's a purple mottled bruise around his neck. His fingers are caked with blood—my blood and his eyes, they're wide and staring—bloodshot.

His look is accusing as he overtakes me, he has the boot I stole from him and he's pressing it over my mouth and nose. I can't breathe, I can't move! He's going to kill me!

But he's dead! He's dead, I killed him myself! I fight against him, but it feels futile as his hands rove my body. What the heck is he doing? But then his fingers find my pocket, and the small token of home and his grip lessens. He's shrinking back, crawling backwards—his eyes still wide and staring at me.

My breath is coming in great gasps, and I'm screaming it over and over again.

"BUT I KILLED YOU! YOU'RE DEAD! I KILLED YOU!"

My eyes snap open, but I haven't moved or screamed. It was just a dream. Just a dream, wasn't it?

My hand creeps up where I touch my neck. It's still whole, unhurt…unbruised. I take deep filling breathes and the cold air feels delightful as it instills calmness in me. My fingers travel to my pocket—his token is still there. I shut my eyes a moment just to breathe before I try to take in my surroundings.

It's the middle of the day and it's still awfully chilly. It doesn't help that my body is covered with a thin sheen of sweat from my nightmare. Just the thought of it causes me to shiver. Thank goodness, it's cold enough that most will think that's all it is, and most of all that I didn't scream my head off.

Stiffly, I roll out of my bag and tighten it up and put it in my pack, just in case. It's so heavy to move around in with all my muscles aching and screaming in protest, but I like the feeling of control it gives me. I down another bottle of water before making my way up to refill it and treat it, then splash some cool water in my face. The effect is instant, I feel so much more alert.

…

I'm laying in the shade of the edge of my trees, looking across the perimeter. I wait a full hour before I come out again. By this time, I've already figured out exactly what stone I want. It's large, and jagged on the edges.

I approach it tentatively, before lifting it up. It's a good sized rock, a little over two fists wide in the middle, and a little thicker toward the outside edges—it's only these edges that are rough. It looks like it chipped off some large rock at some point.

Picking it up, I try to figure out how to best go about it. I take a knife, though I hate to risk damaging it and place it in the center of the rock. With my other hand, I grab a stone and keep banging it repeatedly into the knife. I pause after every strike to make sure I'm still alone.

I hate doing it in the open, but it's the easiest way to keep track of if I'm attracting anyone else. In my den of trees, I would have no warning if someone heard it. By the time I saw them, they'd have me.

It takes me an hour, and severe throbbing in my stitched up hand before it's cracked through. Tucking the knife back in my belt, I grab both pieces and my axe up before making it back to my tree home.

When I reach the middle, I sit down and make a meal while I study the split rocks. The edges are nice and jagged but not nearly pointy enough. I finish off half of my second bottle of water, while I eat some cheese and meat. My stomach yearns for more, but I force myself to wait a bit.

Reaching into my bag with my good hand, I bring out Griffin's boots. Carefully I cut off the lower part—the boot part, and put it back in my bag. Slitting the part that goes on the leg, up the side, I start cutting the leather into pinky wide strips. After I've cut it all up, I jam the strips one by one into the water in my half full bottle, making sure they're all under the water.

Digging out the earth, I sit it in the indent so that it can't fall over. I get out the other rock I had pocketed earlier, it's harder and more solid looking. It's rudimentary at best, but I grip the larger rock between my feet as I use my left hand to sharpen the rock.

…

As the hours pass, I'm glad that there's been no interference. It's not easy to try to make a home-made axe with brute force. It's going to take me a good day, maybe two to finish this off. The first "axe" head is shaping up rather well. It's still a long way from being done, but it's molding easier than I thought. But I've been at this for hours and my hand is throbbing and bloody. I can't even use my right hand to help today. The pain of gripping anything is too great.

I take another large meal as I lean back to relax. The meat tastes amazing, and the cheese is delicious. It's not something we could really afford in seven, so even here it's a special treat as is the meat. That's not to say in seven we didn't get meat, because we did. It was so cold that we had to have more to live off of than just bread and gruel. Back home the allotment of meat lasted us a long time.

My grandmother always used the grain and water to make some very bland bread. What made our hunger better was that she kept the grease from the meat. Of course, there wasn't anywhere to keep it really for long—if you left it outside to stay cold in the snow it would be gone—animals, peacekeepers…whatever. So it was always cooked, some eaten fresh, and the rest made into jerky to keep later.

My grandmother would keep the juices and as the bread cooked, she'd pour it over that. It was like having meat and bread every night—almost. It wasn't as satisfying, but it stopped the pain of hunger more than once. If that's one thing we learned in seven, was that you could fool your stomach into being complacent by little tricks. But in the summer, we didn't even have the meat then—it wasn't practical.

I come back to reality suddenly. Compared to home, this food is heaven. But unmistakably this arena is hell.

…

Washing up, after my meal, I carefully unwrap the bandage on my hand, because I'm going to re-use this one if I can. I don't want to run out before I need to stop using them, after all. I'm delighted to see that though my hand is very painful, nothing looks red or inflamed. There's tiny areas of red, but only where the stitches enter my hand—which stands to reason as the stitches are in holes in my flesh. It's normal from what I can remember of my last stitches. I don't' spare the antibacterial cream, and smear it all over my wound. Carefully bandaging back up, I decide I'm going to get some exercise with this hand. I have to learn how to overcome the pain and force myself to use it.

For the first five minutes, I'm tempted to quit as I practice picking up a few pieces of pine straw. It stretches my stitches uncomfortably, and my hand gives a throb so hard I think I'm going to be sick. But I persist, doing it over and over again until it's more stiff than displeasure. Pushing myself just a little, I pick up a small stone. It's not as bad as I thought it would be—it's only faintly unpleasant.

As I pick my stone back up with my left hand to work on the axe head again, I hear the cannon.

It doesn't sound close though, but I sit there for a minute or two just listening. Tonight, I won't miss the recap—I need to know who else I face.

…

The rest of the day blurs by. My fingers of my left hand are aching and bloody from using the stone so much. I hate to, but I just can't do anymore today. The first axe head is pretty much fashioned, but the second one—I've decided on something different. It's more like a pick-axe, a lot more cutting. Tomorrow, I'll finish it up though.

I relax and eat my third meal of the day. By now, I've finished off the first thing of meat and nearly all the cheese. I know it's stupid to eat like this, but I don't plan on being in this arena long. Plus, I'd feel unsafe eating this meat after a few days, even if it was chilly. If there was snow…that'd be another thing.

The sun's down and air is making me shiver as I shimmy out to the edge of my trees. I'm looking up at the sky waiting for the recap when the cannon booms again. But the birds carry on, nothing even pauses around where I am—it's not close.

About an hour later, the Recap begins. I see three faces in the sky. The boy from six, Griffin from ten, and the girl from 11. The seal comes up and it's over.

I crawl back to my den and sit. I don't know who the first eight are, not really but I'd almost bet the careers were still intact. There are eleven dead. The playing field has almost been cut in half. There are thirteen including me.

That leaves me some time. It's moving quicker than I thought which is good. I should just have enough time to create my spare weapons before the final eight.

It's all I can do to keep my lips from twitching in anticipation.


	15. Mercy

**Hope you enjoy this Johanna is quite angry I didn't put this up yesterday. Another emotional chapter though anyways. A bit graphic...but not too horrible!**

**Anyways, please review. **

_**Anger is a killing thing: it kills the man who angers, for each rage leaves him less than he had been before - it takes something from him.**_  
><em><strong><span>Louis L'Amour<span>**_

The dream plagues me again. But I resist moving as best as I can, and I lay there the longest time with my eyes closed though I'm awake. I don't want them to see how much agony I'm in. When the mist is creeping across the lake, like in my dream. I'm out of my bag and stretching slightly. I take some water out and drink. My throat is parched and aching, and my stomach queasy from the dream. Nightmare, I correct.

I eat a big breakfast of meat and I break open a loaf of bread to wash it down. The other loaf and the jerky, I'm saving them for later. I wash up, and fill up my water bottle. I'm well hydrated.

I go up the inside of one of my precious trees to find a thick sturdy branch from a neighboring oak on the outside of my little home. It takes some time, but finally I free two branches. They both fit so nicely in my hands.

Sitting down, I make sure that the outside is stripped clean and smooth. It doesn't take long because it's a skill we use often at home. I clamp it between my knees as I pick up the rock I've whittled down. Both of the outside edges are jagged and sharp. The middle of the stone indents as smoothly as I could manage it. Holding it up to the top of the wood, I begin to fasten it on.

I've dug into my water bottle and I've gotten out half of the leather strings. I stretch each one tightly and fasten the makeshift blade in place. As the strings dry, it'll tighten and hold better, more sturdy.

I sit there with my hands wrapped around it. The weight is reassuring in my hands, it feels like home. My finger touches the blade gingerly, and I'm pleased with its sharpness. It's come out better than I could have hoped for.

It's then that I hear a noise. It's the sound of a wounded animal. Carefully, I make my way to a different edge of trees. I've left my bag behind now, not willing to risk it rustling the branches above me. My axe is in my hand as I crawl silently.

When I make it to the edge, I see her there. Her body is a bloody mass. She's stumbled into the clearing and wrapped up in her sleeping bag. Smart. She used it to sop up the blood, not to leave such a bad trail behind her.

I don't know how far she's come, or where from. But she's a mess. Blood and dirt cakes her face. One arm is practically twisted backwards. She's been tortured. She's dying. She knows it too.

It's then that I notice her, she's Feora the small scared looking girl from District 3, Aeon's tiny district partner. I can't help but wander who's tortured her like this. Her body is bloody and beaten. She's stifling moans. She's not trying to live or stop this, she's just trying to die in as little pain as possible. Escaping from her captives is winning enough for her.

I watch her lay there for half an hour before I push my axe back beneath the trees, before I pull myself out into the clearing.

No one is around. Absolutely no one.

I creep toward her, my knife in my waist band as I stay low to the ground and another in my hand. I approach her where's she's a few feet from the water. I've come to end her, to put her out of her suffering with dignity. I stand over her and lean down, lifting up her head.

For a moment her good hand shoots up to me, trying to stop me. But then her wide eyes look at me and she lets the hand fall. She's not going to fight me. There's something like relief in her eyes, because somehow she knows I'm not going to torture her. I'm just going to end it—release her.

The blade is in my hand, and I'm about to bring it across the vein in her neck when a shock goes through my body. The blade flies from my hand and I'm on my stomach, half my upper body in water. I push myself up, when I feel his weight on me.

Before I can do more than grab a quick breathe his hands are holding me under. I can't get my head up or my shoulders. I can feel the panic rising in my body. I'm struggling and the air is leaving me quickly.

I need to stay calm. I need to stop trying to breathe, so I hold it in. My lungs are searing with pain and I can feel water seeping into my mouth and my airways despite trying not to. This is how it feels to drown.

This must be somewhat similar to how Griffin felt when I choked the life out of him. My hands and knees digging into him just like this boy is doing to me. I won't die like this.

I can't die like this.

I have to go _home._

As my oxygen is running out, my hand is snaking it's way to my waist band as I stop moving as much. He has to think I'm giving up. I'm so close to really giving up. I can't breath. Any moment, my lungs will just burst and I'll inhale all the water in the lake. The burn will transform my lungs and fill them until I die.

Fear drives the adrenaline and my hand to my belt. My fingers fall on the handle of the blade and I clutch it, focusing as hard as I can. With all the effort I can muster, with what will be my last chance I bring my arm out from under me and with one swift swipe I slash backwards.

His grip falters and I come up gasping and kicking. I roll over quickly, my head is spinning and I'm drenched and freezing. But no matter how tired I am, I have to do it. I can't let anything stop me.

There's a huge gash across his face, blood streaming into his eyes. But I lunge into him and knock him on his back. He raises his arms defensively as I stab at him. He's fighting me though I've pierced his skin with the blade. He throws me back and the blade drops from my hand.

He's skittering to his feet as he lunges forward, but he falls face first. Feora making a horrible crying noise has his ankle in her iron grip holding him there. I surge forward breathless as he turns to strike her. I hear her pained cry, as I'm throwing him hard on his back.

The knife plunges into him again and again. I feel the blood shooting up into my face, splattering my face with the warm gooey spray. My breath is coming in gasps, and I'm dizzy. But I plunge the knife into him again and again, striking bone—bending the blade. His eyes glaze over, but I'm driven by fear and anger. Driven by the need to survive, to catch breath that just doesn't feel like it's enough.

The cannon booms and I stare at him. Bloody and mangled, I hope he suffered. I don't know how long I've stabbed him. But my arm hurts so much, my body is aching. My vision is swimming before my eyes as I collapse off of him.

When I feel fingers touching me, I nearly swing my blade out. But it's Feora. Her fingers are caked with blood from scraping his legs and holding his ankle. Her fingers don't hurt, somehow for some reason she's comforting me. Her breath is ragged and she's shivering. Not, I suppose like me because I'm cold but because she's lost so much blood.

Though I don't want to move. Though I can still barely breathe, I crawl to her. Her hand retracts and she puts her whole finger in her mouth, and I see her tugging at it. I don't understand what she's doing until she spits out the ring into her hand. She sets it down in front of my hands and I take it.

Because, I understand her I think. Don't let the Capitol touch my treasure. Don't let them take it and use it in some Hunger Games arena vistor's spot museum. Don't let it rot in this place. Maybe that's not what she thinks, but it's what I think she's saying.

My breath is easier as I lift her head, baring her throat. She doesn't struggle as the blade glides across her jugular. As the last life flees her body, her hand touches the ring I've slipped on my finger, her ring. Then the cannon booms.


	16. Chilled

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_**One need not be a chamber to be haunted;**_  
><em><strong>~Emily Dickinson, "Time and Eternity"<strong>_

The slick, wet blood from Feora coats my hand, falling over her ring…my ring now. I'm just so tired. Laying her mutilated body down, I check her pockets quickly. But I'm only covered with more blood for my efforts. My teeth are chattering with cold as I move to the boy's body.

His wide green eyes are staring up at me, accusing me but I don't care. His name is Riley, I think. He's from District 4. I've killed my first career.I see the knife wounds all over his body. It stuns me to see how many times I've stabbed him in my fury, in my lust for his blood. Thirty? No…forty times. My hands don't falter at the blood as I check his body for weapons, but surprisingly he's got nothing but a small knife tucked into the back of his pants. I take that and my knife, stripping him of his boots.

Something strikes me as I'm about to walk away. Going back, I look around his body for a bit before I find it. It's a small trinket around his wrist, bathed in blood and torn—just a ribbon from a girl's hair. It's stupid really, but there's stories from back before we were Panem…back before anything remotely like this place where there was a thing called serial killers. They liked trophies and were cold, emotionless even sadistic killers. Let the Capitol think that of me. I hope they would, that they'd all just leave me alone after these games.

I move my way to the water, and wade out in it. It's icy cold, but not as cold as I feel inside. I watch as the blood makes swirls in the water. I sit down and splash the blood off of me. Despite my hate to, I go under quickly. I come back up gasping for air because I can still feel him trying to drown me. I wonder, will it ever go away?

I doubt it.

I move in the water to the edge of my trees. Crawling, I finally reach my little haven. I pull off all my clothes tiredly, even my under clothes and lay them out while I crawl into my sleeping bag to shiver. I feel like I'll never be warm again, there's so much ice in me. My whole body is aching, exhausted. My teeth chatter and all the plans I'd made for today are out the window. Most of today is going to be spent trying to stay warm and not get sick.

For the next few hours, I slip in and out dreams. Feora is shivering beside me while Riley and Griffin are inching closer. But every time I think I'm going to suffocate—I wake up. It's only mid-day, when I reach out to test my clothes. They're half way dry—but cold. It's only the gusting of the wind that's dried them this much. I make another meal of meat and bread. I drink sips of water before I head back to the lake and fill my canteen and the cut off shoe part of the boot. I tie it off with a leather string, making a nice make-shift water pouch.

Thankfully, my jacket had been off when I'd snuck out. So that was keeping me relatively warm now. Sliding my shoulders out of the sleeping bag, I decided to work on my pick axe more. Maybe the exertion will warm me.

…

I work into the fading light, one side is completely shaped—or at least as well as I'm going to get it. It's long and spiked to a point. The other side will take most of tomorrow, if not another day

I spend the rest of the evening drinking water, sniffling and eating. My throat's a little sore and my nose is runny, but I seem to be relatively okay. It's probably more from inhaling water than getting sick.

The night sky lights up with the faces of those I killed—Riley from 4 and Feora from 3. No one else died this day. I let out a low sigh, and give myself up to sleep.

…

I awake with nightmares of being pulled under. As much as I want to go back to sleep, to just…curl up and be left alone and warm. I can't. Time is moving so much faster now. My clothes are relatively dry so I slip them back on.

I'm just having my breakfast when the cannon booms. But I barely pay attention as I continue on with my daily plan. Eat. Grind, Clean, Eat. Always drink. Then watch the Seal. It comes up showing the boy from District 12. I'm surprised he lasted this long honestly.

…

The cannon booms in the dead of the night. For a moment, I lift my head and look around. But no one's close, I give myself back up to fretful sleep.

….

Their eyes are staring at me. Both Riley and Griffin are there. One has his hands wrapped around my throat and the other is pushing me underwater. But I know I can't fight them, and I don't struggle. I just lay there a long time. Empty…dead inside before I go on about my day.

What day is this? Day five in the arena. My weapon is finished in my hand, the pickaxe is fastened and ready for use. So I just sit there and eat and eat. We're at fourteen already. Just two or four more then…it's time. I need to travel light, and it won't do me any good to leave this here.

That's when the screaming begins.

I don't know how far away it is. It's not that close. But the sound of agony transcends space and time. That's not the sound of death, but the sound of torture. It's the sound my brother made as they killed him. I hear it in my dreams sometimes still…It even haunts my daytimes now. Liam.

Liam…

Liam!

For awhile, I escape into thoughts of him. The way he moved through the trees with an axe over his shoulder. I remember him showing me how to swing one. The smooth strokes that would fell a tree in fewer blows. Under him, I learned how to direct the tree to fall where I wanted and to tell if the wood was good or not. I knew which trees to tap for syrup or cider. He showed me the easy strokes that worked for swimming, and the one time he actually got to show me.

His eyes were vivid like the sky on a peaceful night. He would cradle my head to his chest as we'd sit before the fire on cold winter's night. I remember the song's he would sing to me. His voice, rich and deep. It wasn't beautiful…except that it was. There was so much feeling there, even if his voice was rough and uneven in places. Sometimes it was just tired, but since I could remember, it was his voice that lulled me to sleep. It was something special he shared with me, and only me.

But with the good memories came the bad. The day he came home ashen faced, covered in our father's blood. The day we held Sven in our hands as our mother bled out, whispered words of love with her dying breath. And though those memories were horrid enough, two more washed over me worse than the last. My brother's name being called the last year of his eligibility as I stood there holding Sven in my arms as he slept, my eyes heavy with sleep because of being up with him during the night.

I had thought it a nightmare at first, when I heard it. He walked up quickly and brightly already playing the crowd. I remember holding back my tears when I walked into his arms in the little room we were meant to say goodbye. My grandmother touched his face, Greta cradled into her arms crying. But Liam held me tightly, careful not to crush Sven. "What am I going to do Liam?" Eleven years old with the weight of the world on my shoulders, and a three month old sibling in my arms.

Liam stroked my hair, those blue eyes looking down into my eyes. "'Anna," his pet name for me. "You just have to hold on till I'm back. It'll be rough, just hold on."

I nod my head and kiss his cheek, sure he'd come back.

As we left, we passed Mara in the hall waiting to go in to him.

My last look at him alive was six days into the games. He'd been chased through the arena, bloody and weak. I felt the tears welling in my eyes as Sven and Greta cried and cried, but I couldn't move from the TV. I couldn't comfort them when I couldn't be comforted myself.

People came to our house, quiet knocks on the door. Small offerings of their meager meals, taking Sven and Greta for awhile. So we could be with him in what way we had left until the end. He was dying, it was clear on his face. Mara clinging to my grandmother sobbing, my grandmother stroking Mara's long black hair. But no hands could comfort me, I threw them all aside as I stared at him.

We watched long into the night as he struggled through the forests, leaving a clear path of blood but never relinquishing the axe in his hands. Then he found what he was looking for, gripping the fallen log he carved out the words, "BURY ME."

I could feel my heart welling in me, knowing what it meant to the people of our District. He spoke Mara's name gently, a whisper of love. Her hands on the tv touching him, trying to reach his outstretched hand to no avail.

Then softer than you'd believe imagineable, "'Anna…Anna." His finger drew in the dirt the symbol he had taught me so long ago. A sideways eight—eternity.

Eternity.

He promised me eternity.

The weight of all that was happening mad me want to scream. Liam! The crushing weight of his death was burying me under, and her screams were louder. I wished I could kill her, end her now. End our suffering. But I'm trapped, we're all trapped here.

But her suffering goes on. I hear the hysterical screams, then another scream joins her. It's not of pain, well not physical pain…but that boy might as well be dying as well. He'll never be the same after this. I'll never be the same after this. None of us will.

The screams go on and on. It's horrible, high and choking. The shrill sounds drill into my ears until I think it won't ever go away. I felt I've grown old with her screams and the agony of the boy who is being forced to watch her die.

I feel sick. My whole body is filled with revulsion. What in them makes them able to keep doing this? To keep on pressing, to keep making them scream? What kind of monsters are they?

It takes hours, until finally mid-scream the cannon booms. Then everything is silent.

As the faces go up in the night sky of District 9 and 12's girls, I make my decision.

This is it. I won't wait any longer. There's eight of us left. In the morning, it's time to hunt. It's time to make them pay, it's time to go _home._

The only question is, are they ready for me?

**A/N: I realize there are several questions this chapter inspires. So I'll say this. You will find out what BURY ME means, what Liam meant by eternity, more about Mara, more about their father's death, and anger at Blight.**

**At this point, she's too broken thinking about her brother's death and listening to the screams to feel it. But she will, oh boy, will she tomorrow!**


	17. The Animal Within

**As always, keep reviewing. I'll be replying to those who have reviewed very soon. I had to get out this chapter, and possibly the next since I'm on a ROLL!**

**But anyways, I think you'll enjoy a little bit more information about Liam's game. More allusions to eternity and the words he carved out. So lot's of questions for you, and a bit of a cliffhanger.**

**So hold on tight! And remember it's not over till the cannon booms.**

**And it's soon to be doing that QUITE a lot. XD**

**Enjoy loves!**

_**Carry the battle to them. Don't let them bring it to you. Put them on the defensive and don't ever apologize for anything.**____**  
><strong>__**Harry S. Truman**_

For the first time, I sleep peacefully in the arena. Liam is there with me, holding me like he used to. My head is against his chest as he sings to me our old songs, about hope and belief. Songs of love and longing, songs that were more beautiful and understanding as he came to love Mara.

Even in my dreams, I knew he was dead. But I was afraid if I asked, he'd leave and it'd been so long since I heard his voice or felt the comfort of my brother beside me, back when I was safe and warm. Back when I was somewhat happy.

Then the words, not of promise or hope he sang to me. The words banned in our District, punishable by death. I wake up, and I'm convinced I can still smell the trees from home and still hear his deep voice, his laugh…

The mist is rising off the lake as I eat the last part of my meat, and first loaf of bread. I check my bandage and adjust my boots before crawling to the lake, the spare boots in my hand. I fill them up, and iodine them before tying them off with strings. Crawling back to my den, I put the water bags all in the inner backpack. The loaf of bread is in the main pack, while the jerkey remains in my pocket. I secure the knives to my belt, and crawl out dragging all three axes. I wait for only five minutes at the entrance.

I'm tired of hiding, I'm tired of…well, anything other than hunting them down. Because I'm tired of playing their games, this is _my_ game now. I stand up and spend a minute or two stretching my limbs. I fasten the homemade axes onto the side of my backpack where I've made loop holes for them.

The weight of the backpack and axes is heavy, but comfortable. My gloves are on as I blow out icy breath. For awhile, I settle into a long stride and my muscles relax. I'm finally getting to work out the cramps and move around again. I feel all the strength flowing in me, I'm ready to get busy. I shift the axe in my hand, as I walk. I'm quiet, but not slow anymore. I'm not trying to hide, I'm hunting.

Then it comes on me what day this is. My brother died this day, five years ago to the day—he died in a place just like this. It's why he came to me in my dreams maybe. To comfort me today, but I don't believe in that stuff. But if anyone could do it, or would do it…he would.

I know in the Capitol they're probably talking about him now. It'll come out probably, about my family, about Liam…about my grandfather. A family that the odds had never been in favor of. I couldn't protect them in here, I needed to get home.

But Liam was everywhere today, I could hear him and feel him everywhere. The song kept coming back to me, the image of him carving words into a fallen log…the sound of his dying breath saying my name.

Eternity.

The hate welled up inside of me so fast, that I had to grit my teeth from screaming. It was so sudden, so overwhelming. How could I have forgotten? It was Blight's fault my brother had died. It was Blight's fault…Blight. I gripped the axe in my hand, wishing he was here right now so that I could torture him—make him pay.

Right now I understood what any vicious animal knows, the desire to kill. Like the most vicious of prey, I for once understood the reasoning…the need to play with my food. Some animalistic desire in me wanted to make him suffer, hear his screams and destroy him.

It would only be a few more days till I got home. Then…then I could kill him. I'd make it look like an accident or…something. Who cares? He would die…or I'd make him suffer as much as I could.

All the surging of emotions made me quicken my step some. My heart was thrumming Blight's funeral march. It made such perfect sense. The way my brother played his game, the way…he refused the career alliance, the way he went on by himself.

But something roused me from my daydreams of murder.

It started just like yesterday—screams. Only this time, it was the boy. So they were having fun with their victims, were they? While they tortured him, I'd find them. They'd never know what hit them.

I crouch lower to the ground and run more speedily. I drown out the idea of how those screams mean agony, and think of them only as a way to get out of here alive. His suffering is a means of escape for me.

I walk for half the day, through the dense wood before I scale a tree to sit up in the branch and eat. I wonder if they know how dangerous I am yet? Have they guessed, who I really am?

No. I feel confident in that. They have no idea that I was playing some game. The only ones in the arena who would have seen it, are the ones who can no longer talk. As I munch on a slice of bread and a slice of jerky, I just watch. It's easier now to blot out his screams.

What has become of me that the screams of someone dying don't' even reach me anymore? Have I become that much of a hunter that I don't care? I think maybe that's it.

As I sit in the tree, I can almost see Liam walking down there. His bright smile and dark eyes, as he walked through the trees to his capture and torture by the careers. I remember the way, he refused to scream for them…how he was a bloody mass before he killed Livi, the female from our District. She had been screaming for hours, and was suffering more than he was when he escaped. Snapping her neck, he grabbed a nearby axe and hacked up three of the careers before he left.

They'd been content to let him run. To let him die in the woods alone, rather than risk more life in pursuit of him.

For years I've tried to imagine what the cannons sounded like in his ears as he killed the ones who had killed him? Now I think I could almost feel it. I could understand that even if he was going to die, it was going to be on his own terms.

And now, on the anniversary of his death, I finally understood what he went through in a way he would never have wanted me to. You're not human in here, you're a wild caged beast when they send you out. You can't forget that. He had died by fluke, but I think he'd be happy that through his death that I had learned what would keep me alive that I wouldn't be the sister of a winner that died in the arena. I would be the winner.

I hated that I understood that now, here at the end of the world. That I knew, if he could feel wherever he was at…that he would be happy he'd not ruined _my_ chances.

In the midst of my revelation, I noticed that the screaming stopped. I listened for a long while. Something was wrong…there was no cannon. I sat there in the tree waiting for it to happen. My pack composed up, my small meal finished. It's then that the sound of the cannon booms, then a few moments later it booms again.

Two prisoners? That doesn't make sense, why not make that one scream earlier?

I wait in the tree, not sure why but something compelling me to stay there for awhile. Finally, I drop down and my axe is back in my hand as I stand back up. I spend the next thirty minutes walking, ears absorbed in listening.

Just as my feet reach the edge of a clearing, I hear the trampling through the trees from the far side. I grab the large pick-axe on the loop of my backpack and raise my axe preparing to throw it at whoever breaks through the trees.

Only, I can't. Not when I see who it is. It's Wren, broken and bloody breaking through the trees, clutching at his stomach. And all I can see is Liam running, broken and bloody. And I know just as I knew then, that he's dying just like Liam. He's the one they tortured.

I don't hesitate any longer. He's not much, but... He showed me compassion once, when he didn't have to. Now it's my turn.

I walk into the clearing, and I can see his surprise and delight to see me. But then I see his fear, as he collapses at my feet. His voice is barely audible as he chokes out blood, "Jo," he sputters again. "Run Jo! They're coming!"

But I'm tired of running. As he clutches my feet, pleading for me to leave and offering to stay behind so I can escape, I'm adjusting the pick axe in my hand, The other axe is in my left hand.

I can hear them almost here. I step past Wren.

"Run, Jo! Run!" He's pleading with me, but I'm not listening.

The pick axe is raised, and I'm waiting…waiting to see their faces when I kill them.


	18. Where I'm Waiting

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**And for you, I have another Johanna chapter. I'm not sure how…fast the next chapter is coming, but I can assure you…I'm going to be bawling my freaking eyes out. I might be able to finish it really quick because of it, or I might be slow. But I think it'll be quick XD.**

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**Let me know what you think! ^_^**

_**In a battle all you need to make you fight is a little hot blood and the knowledge that it's more dangerous to lose than to win.**____**  
><strong>__**George Bernard Shaw**___

Time seems both to slow and to speed up. It's impossible that it does both, but somehow in my mind it does. Wren is quiet, probably thinking I'm about to die…Or maybe, just maybe, he realizes how dangerous I am.

My muscles are taut as I hold the axe in a position to launch as soon as I have a target. The sweat is dripping down my back, and I'm thinking I should have taken off my jacket. But I'm not moving. It's too late to change anything now, I'm just waiting.

My heart beats wildly, adrenaline coursing through my system as I hear the footsteps closer and closer. The trail of blood Wren has left is clear, they'll have no problems finding their way here.

My eyes flicker to an area, just a moment before they appear. The blonde from two, her eyes vicious, an evil smile splitting her face open from ear to ear. Her male counterpart, alert and just as vicious. For a moment, I see them register shock. But only for a moment, because I have not hesitated as they have.

As they broke from the brambles, I launched my pickaxe. By the time, she registered that I was Johanna Mason, the pickaxe was embedded in her brain. I saw her skull split wide open from the force of it, blood and brain matter gushing out as she fell over dead.

But for a moment, she knew. She knew it was me. That's what mattered.

The cannon boomed as I surged toward him, her body still falling. The axe I took from Griffin in my hands. For a moment, I thought he'd be easy too. He was stunned, but the realization that his partner was dead and that I was heading toward him roused his brain.

As I swung the axe at his middle section, he threw himself backwards on the ground. He's rolled to his feet, a long blade in his hands, and for a moment we face each other. I see the look of incredulity on his face, as he tries to wrap his mind around me. But I'm in no mood to give him chances.

Swinging up and in at him, he barely parries the blow. Turning his blade around, he's slicing down at me, but I've carefully stepped out of the way. He's lost his footing with the force of the strike.

I take it to my advantage and retreat a few feet, before I take out my second axe. Despite the danger my backpack poses of weighing me down, and making me slower than normal—I can't relinquish it. In it is the only sustenance I have. If I run from him without it, I'm as good as dead.

He approaches me cautiously, and I watch the way he moves. He's slower than me, probably because of how large he is. But there's a certain predator type quality in the way he moves.

For a moment, we two monsters circle each other before we lunge, as if by common agreement, at each other. The clash of the blades striking jars my jaws and every other bone in my body.

He's superior in strength, but I'm vicious. I strike out with my other axe barely missing his knee. Throwing me off, I fall a few steps back right as he slashes out his blade. The stumble saved my life, as a huge gash opened across my cheek, barely missing my eye.

He's drawn first blood. I see him using it to rally. But really, we've just begun.

We weave in out in an intricate dance. His heavy muscles use a lot of force, but he's tiring. My wiry frame is built for speed, while years of wielding an axe has made me remarkably strong.

I throw my weight into every lunge of an axe, but he's more reserved. He has to save something to be more agile. He's clumsy, and cumbersome but he keeps his footing.

Little by little, I'm loosing ground.

What agility and speed I've had is quickly becoming lost to the weight of my pack. It's critical really, but it's a decision I have to make. With two strokes, I drive him back stumbling with the sheer surprise of them while hastily slipping off my pack and throwing it as far as I can behind me.

I can feel the freedom of movement in my shoulders, and the weight off my back as I rush forward. He barely gets his blade up as I bring the axe down. Pushing me off, he barely blocks the axe in my left from coming up into his thigh.

Then he sees his chance. He strikes down and hard at me. I barely block the blow, just able to hold it off. But instead of trying to do anything else, he just keeps pressing down on me. My back is arching backwards as he weighs me down beneath his force. I've dropped the second axe, to hold him off. If I can't its over…

I can see the victory in his eyes. He thinks he has me cornered, that poor weak Johanna will give up and die.

But I am not weak. I am vicious. He's just like the ones who killed my brother. They've tortured and killed Wren! I won't let him beat me.

So I do the only thing I can do. I bring my knee up hard into his groin. I hear the wind gust out of him and the weight on me slackens as I dodge to the side picking my axe back up.

His eyes are stinging with tears as I drive back at him. Little by little, I force him backwards. There's nothing but fury in my blows now.

He wants to kill me. He wants to torture me, he wants to hear me scream. But I will not give him that. I will not let him have any part of me. As long as there is breath in my body I will be fighting to kill him.

I know in the Capitol that we're the stars of the show right now. They're watching us glued to their TV's. We probably look like some kind of gladiators. There's a smooth motion to our fighting as though we've both practiced against each other for years. It's as if he guesses how I'm going to move before I do, and I feel the same with him.

Right now it's a matter of speed, a matter of time.

Time wanes on and there's sweat dripping down my back and blood is running in my eyes. But I'm gaining on him, pushing him further and further back. The tree is only a foot behind him when I see my chance. He's much slower now, tired and heavy with fatigue just like I am.

I swing down with the axe in my left hand so that he's forced to push it off. But it's only a half-hearted strike, because I knew he would defend it. I use all the strength in my body, and the momentum of him pushing my attack down and to the left against him. As my left hand is pushed down, I bring my right arm forward with all the strength and rage I can muster.

I imagine that it's Blight, that it's Snow. That it's the stupid Districts and the hunger. It's everything I hate as the blade sinks into his chest. The momentum of my strike causes him to drop his sword and me my left handed axe as I fall towards him.

I hear the sickening crunch of his ribs, and the arterial spray as his heart pumps forth blood. It flies into my mouth, and onto my face as the axe sinks in. There's confusion on his face as his head lolls forward.

The cannon booms.

I step back expecting his body to fall, but for the moment his legs sag and his body stays up. It's then I notice that the edge of the axe blade is in the tree. It takes a few minutes before I can free it from him. I check his pockets quickly, putting his token of a coin portraying a former victor in my pocket before stabbing him with his sword for good measure. I wanted to make sure it was taken from the arena with him. Crossing over to the girl, I check her pockets, nothing important—just a small wooden figure of a bird that I also take with me.

Putting my shoe on her neck, it takes a few minutes before I'm able to wiggle the pick axe blade out of the mush of her skull. My breath is finally even as I head back to Wren. I want to run, and hide.

I know he's dying. And as I see him lying there protecting my pack with what's left of his life, I know that I'm right. He's going to ask me the one thing I can't—won't refuse him.

He wants me to kill him.


	19. The Cost of the Living

**I wrote this last night, right after the last chapter. I think a little piece of me died inside. I reread this several times, trying to get this right. But it took pretty much the first time only adding one part that I forgot.**

**Thank you for your reviews! They mean a lot to me! ^_^**

**I'll reply to them, after I go cry in the corner over there X_X**

"_**And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?"**_

"_**You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation."**_

_**The Prince's Tale, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows**_

I walk slowly back to him, dreading every step that takes me closer. I kneel beside him, and pull the bag to me. "Thanks," I say it gently.

"No, thank you." Wren's hand reaches up and wipes the blood away from my eye. "I—" He's looking at me in this stunned, confused way. I feel the soft spray of blood coming from his mouth as he coughs. "Your hair." His hands touch the small tufty shreds of my shorn hair and his hands are cold, very cold.

I touch his hand, as it slides back down my face. It's nice to feel closeness to some other human, even if he's going to ask me to kill him. "Worried about my hair?" I laugh at him as he rubs some blood off my nose.

"I just missed your long braid, what happened?"

"Think it's best you don't know." My eyes turn away from him, but he doesn't question me any further about it. His finger is tracing the cut over my cheek, assessing its damage.

"You know," he coughs again and for a few moments he's gasping for breath. I help lean him forward a little, so that his back is on my legs and his head is resting on my knee. "You know, I only wanted to protect you. From the beginning…you seemed so lost, so scared…I just wanted to help take care of you."

I speak simply, "I told you, I didn't need help Wren." I'm pushing back a soft wave of his hair, they way I would have done for Liam as he was dying. I can understand now, the reason he killed the girl from our district before he ran. It wasn't fair to leave her behind to them, just like I couldn't leave him behind to suffer when we both knew he was dying.

"I know…I thought you were being noble." He's smiling lightly now, "But I guess, I was the one needing protecting?"

I can't help but laugh as the tears cascade down my cheeks, "Always knew you'd need my help." I'm crying now, great. I'm wiping at my eyes, but the more I wipe the more the tears fall. I can't do this. I can't watch him die. My brother died on this day, Wren is dying this day. Somehow the two ideas have merged in my mind, and I'm tired and homesick like a child.

I want to feel Liam's strong arms around me, telling me it's okay as he sings me back to sleep after my nightmares. I'm eleven years old again, the night before the games. I'm terrified of losing him…and then he's there and he's dying. Liam is dying and I can't do anything.

But it's Wren. I have to keep telling myself that. It's Wren not Liam. But does it matter at all here? Nothing matters. All time is lost, all emotion…all humanity is foreign to this place. I'm trying to hold on to Johanna Mason, but she's slipping so far away now. I don't know if I'll ever get her back.

I brush the tears back, and force myself to stop crying. Wren's voice is cutting in, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," my voice breaks for a moment and I'm cursing inside. "My face just stings," I lie smoothly. I know he's not convinced, but he understands. This is for him, this is for our District, this is for the life we have left behind. Because nothing is going to be the same again now.

"I can't believe it," he chokes again on the blood. "District 7's going to have a winner again."

"What else did you expect from me?"

"So it's true then, you knew all along?" He's looking at me with incredulity partly, and part amazement.

"I planned it like this Wren, from the moment they pulled my name. I was already playing." I can feel the power. I no longer have to keep it in, the whole Capitol can know now. They can delight in my evil intentions. They can see me now for who I really am. I am the girl no one cared to stop, I am the girl who will soon be crowned Victor. I'm the girl who's going to kill their tributes.

"You're amazing," he laughs. Again, I can feel the blood spray my face. "Sorry," he murmurs. "You had me fooled to."

"If I couldn't have fooled you, it wouldn't have worked," I say honestly.

We're getting close to the moment now. I can feel him looking at me, trying to figure out what to say.

"Jo," his voice is softer now. He's like a child who's in pain—helpless, tired, pale, and worst of all scared. "There's no one back home for me."

As much as I want to tell him to hold on, we both know he can't. He's beyond that now…save the miracle of Capitol medicine. "I'm sure there's someone."

"No," he says it flatly. "I've never loved. All my family is gone, I live in the community home. Lived," he corrects. "There's no one left to remember me."

"I'll remember you." I hate that the Capitol sees, but I can't let him die alone like my brother, not when I can be there for him. He doesn't deserve to die alone, neither of them.

"Jo," his voice is pleading. This is it, I know. He's going to ask me to do it. His lips are forming the words, before I quietly put my finger to his lips.

"I know." I can feel the sadness in my voice, because as much as I try to tell myself it's okay, that it's better this way he's still the closest thing to my brother. I don't' know if it's easier to think about it that way or not, but I know it's the right thing to do so he won't suffer.

Wren sighs deeply, "You'll do it then, you'll…finish me?"

"Even if you hadn't asked."

He laughs a bit before he gags again, "You would, wouldn't you?"

"Is there anything you want?" I ask him. After all, after this there's nothing. Or, well I don't know what's after but it's not living.

"Can you spare some water?" I nod my head, and take out the good water bottle so that he can have some fresh non-shoe tasting water. He drinks it with a lot of effort. It's hard for him to swallow, but he's so thirsty. I wonder how long it's been since he ate or drank.

"Are you hungry?" I've lowered the bottle, now stained with his blood. The water inside is swirling with the color of it.

"I can't take your food."

"You don't have to," I say it. And I know it's true. "What do you want? Anything at all, I'm sure Blight will send it." Good way to put him on the spot, doesn't change the fact I'll kill him.

"Beef Stew, like from home. I want…" And he just looks at me, unable to finish the words. I know what he means though. He wants a piece of home before the end. The words were barely out of his mouth as the parachute floats down into my uplifted hands. I open up the container to some hot beef stew and a spoon.

My stomach grumbles at the smell of it, as I dig the spoon in. Bringing it to my mouth, I blow on it to cool it before taking it to Wren's lips. "Thank you, and thank you…Blight." He obediently takes two or three mouthfuls, before shaking his head enough.

His hand is tracing on my wrist, a symbol. My body stiffens as I realize it's the same one my brother traced into the ground at his death. Why was everything about him today? Why couldn't I have some sort of peace?

"Thank you Jo, you've saved me from them."

"You did that yourself," I've set the bowl to the side and my fingers have fallen on the knife blade at my side.

"No, they'd have caught me again and tortured me. You've made it easier. It's nice being with you at the end. Nice knowing that yours will be the last face I see." He pauses for a few minutes, "This won't cost too much?"

I furrow my brow, "It costs nothing, Wren."

"It does though, doesn't it? It costs something inside of you to kill, even if it's out of kindness. Some place in you goes hollow, like losing a piece of your soul." I can't speak as he says that, because we know the truth of it. "I don't want you to do it, if you can't live with it Jo. It'll cost so much…"

He's dying and he's worried about me. "Wren," I speak carefully. "There's nothing left to cost. Doing this, won't hurt me anymore, do you understand?" Because of all the people I've killed, and will kill—I know that neither his face or Feora's will haunt me in my dreams. I will feel the pain of them leaving forever, don't get me wrong. But they accepted the end, it was not ripped from them by my hands. I have their forgiveness even if I don't have mine.

He looks up at me with pain in his eyes, "I hope you're wrong about that then , Jo." He stares at me for a long minute, neither of us speaking. I don't think he can see me anymore, he's looking past me now and he's unfocused. "Bury me."

His words ring out startling and clear. My brother's words carved into a fallen log have come to haunt me again as they haunt me everyday. But he's from home and he knows what it means. I lean down and kiss his forehead gently, "It shouldn't have been this way..." I don't dare to say the words exactly, because the Capitol can reach me here.

The corners of Wren's mouth tilt up in a smile, as I plunge my dagger into his heart.


	20. Empty

**This chapter is different. Poor, brave Johanna has hung on for as long as she can. She's in ruins now. All the anger that has driven her, the will to live—it's finally ebbing until she feels the full weight of everything crushing her at once.**

**This is her dealing with that. I think…she might have given up, if it wasn't for her family. If only she knew she was destined to lose them all too—maybe things would have ended differently.**

**But right now, she's a terrified, sixteen year old girl who's on the verge of losing it. Hate can only take you so far.**

**And btw, a question sprung up about her taking the tokens. She has no intentions of keeping them and never has. It was merely a ploy to try to make the Capitol disgusted with her (and it probably only enamoured them with her X_X). **

**To the Capitol, the Hunger Games are nothing but a horror movie. The people aren't real. It's like they're actors and even the Capitol believes the Capitols lies. That's the danger of a lie, is that to most people it becomes the truth.**

**So please read and review. I don't ask that you enjoy this chapter. I ask that you understand this chapter. Remember the most crushing moment in your life, and think of how you've felt when you are keenly aware of how easy it is/was to die. And remember any horrible thing you've ever done or said, and imagine that guilt coupled with the death of someone. That's how she's feeling.**

**It's what's shaping her. But please, most of all remember who she REALLY is in **_**Mockingjay**_**. **

**Page 254. **

"**At the hospital room door, I watch Johanna for a moment, realize that most of her ferocity is in her abrasive attitude. Stripped fo that, as she is now, there's only a slight young woman, her wide-set eyes fighting to stay awake against the power of the drugs. Terrified of what sleep will bring."**

_**When my ship gonna come and will I hold till it does?**__**  
><strong>__**What should I believe as darkness falls on me?**__****_

_**Can you hear me? Is someone there**____**  
><strong>__**Am I losing my mind, am I losing my mind?**__**  
><strong>__**Am I all alone, wont you rescue me?**__**  
><strong>__**Talking to myself, staring at the sea**__****_

_**what will morning bring?**__**  
><strong>__**will I hear that old sea bird sing?**__**  
><strong>__**will her colors fill my eyes?**__**  
><strong>__**as she sails through clear blue sky**__****_

_**Can you hear me? Is someone there**____**  
><strong>__**Am I losing my mind, am I losing my mind?**__**  
><strong>__**Am I all alone, wont you rescue me?**__**  
><strong>__**Shapes in the darkness, staring at the sea**_

I don't even hear the cannon boom, but I know he's gone. For a moment, I just sit there as the blood pools around my hand. I feel so dead inside, so vacant. The waves of agony are washing over me. The only one who might have been my friend here, he's gone.

I feel the tears gliding down my cheeks, but I don't bother to stop them. I don't care who sees anymore. I'm in mourning—mourning for Wren, mourning the lose of innocence, and what I have left to do. My eyes fall down to him, and I look at his gently smiling face. He's at peace, I keep telling myself. You've done this for him.

It brings some solace to the intense pain in my chest. My hand brushes back his hair from his face, my hand pulling out the blade from his chest. But I don't bother to wipe it, I just shove it into the band of my pants. With gentle fingers, I cup his face with my hands and I take in his whole face so I'll never forget him.

It's like I'm on the train again. I can feel the warm assurance of the Avox's hand. I feel someone believes, that someone cares for me other than my family. But it's gone, at least he's gone away from me just like Wren. Both of them have come into my life in fleeting moments, but I will carry them with me always. I will care for them and treasure them. Their memories will be sacred to me, they'll be the friends I've never had.

I don't know why, but I'm leaning close. My forehead is leaning against his, my voice much stronger than I could have expected, almost natural. "I'll kill them for you, Wren." I shut my eyes for a moment, the tears still running down my face and mixing into the blood on his. My voice is urgent as I speak again, "I know it was him. I know it was Aeon, and I promise you. I. Will. Kill. Him."

I know the truth. It's always been Aeon. He's the vicious brute he's always appeared to be. The only difference between us, is that he has never hid what he's capable of and that I do not live to torture others. But in his case, I will make an exception. He will suffer for what I've endured because of him—because Wren has suffered. He has made my people suffer.

My people. It's the first time in a long time that I've felt connected to the others from my district. When my parents and brother died, I felt severed from them. I was by circumstances and pain, but they are still my people from my district. They are still rooting for me back home. Probably hoping that Wren would come back, he was the better one of us after all. Everyone would know that now.

I may not connect with them anymore. We may not be on friendly terms, but they are my people—they are part of what I love of home. My eyes focus back in on Wren. I touch my lips to his pale cold ones, "I promise." It's a greeting that is common in my District to someone you were fond of or friends with, a simple kiss of greeting or goodbye—just the light touching of lips in salutation. It means trust, respect, and home.

Sitting back on my heels, I drain the bowl of beef soup hastily—choking it down. I look down at him one last time before I hoist my bag on my back. I don't bother searching through Wren's pockets—he has never had a token, or a person to give him one back home. I don't think I could take his anyways. I will carry him with me always.

I place my home-made axes in my holders, and take the other up in my hands as I move off. I can hear the hovercraft dropping down just as I've made the trees. It's been waiting on me all this time, to take their bodies away.

It's only a moment before that sound disappears, or maybe I'm too far away now. My footsteps are silent as I walk. My vision is clear though my eyes still have a steady flow of tears washing down the blood stains and the gash on my face. There's no need to wipe my tears, clean my face, or clean my blades.

I don't want to hide anymore. I feel numb. Let them see what their games do to people, let them see the monsters they force us to become to survive. Let them question these games! If they pity me for the weakness I show, so be it. Hate me, love me…I don't care anymore.

I will win. I will live. I will go home a shell of the girl I once was. I can never be whole or happy again. I can never forget what I have done here, and I can never forget there were moments that I wasn't horrified. But how can you be? Each death brings you closer to life, each cannon is another step towards freedom.

I follow the trail of Wren's blood through the trees. I'm amazed at how far he's come, at how much it must have cost him to do this. I don't know how he could run that far or long in so much pain. A part of me is wondering if he was hoping to find me? Or maybe hoping to lead them far away from me? Or was he just running until he could find a way out?

As much as I'd like to think he would run to the warmth of my being, of a friendship that could have been if there had never been a games—if I hadn't been broken already. I know the truth. He is purely good, like my brother—like my grandmother. He was running hoping to lead them far from me, because his last act would be wanting me to survive. I have everything he wants so desperately.

I feel as he feels running through the woods. He's unselfish, and he knows his sacrifice will save my life and theirs. He's giving me the chance to go home to family. I wonder, did he ever intend to try if it came to me and him? Or would he have only done that if I was gone?

But why do I ask? I know the truth.

…

It's not long before I come upon their camp. I see the blood all around, the scuff marks in the sand. This place has known suffering. I feel all of the beef stew welling up in my throat until I spill all the contents of my stomach on the ground. I'm shaking, on my hands and knees for ten minutes before I can crawl away.

The stench of agony fills this place. I can see where the girl died. There's a large bloody place, some of it looks like there's bit of her left behind here. I start dry-heaving now, and I roll onto my back and look into the sky. The tears are still rolling down my face, and I'm sobbing now.

This place has known so much misery. How would people even want to visit this place in the future? Why would they want to remember what they made us do here? Why?

I lay there for what feel like an eternity. This place is haunted, I know it. As I lay there, in the ruins where at least one was tortured to death—where Wren watched, where the two from District one probably died. I am haunted. It's like I can hear their screams even now. I can see them dying, I am watching them suffer…and I am powerless to move.

I don't know how long it is. But a hundred phantasms have come to me as I lay there. There's the Avox comforting me, Liam singing to me, then I see each tribute's bloody end as I'm laying there sobbing.

I think, I'm going crazy. Something's wrong. Why can I see them all here? If I let myself go any further, I'm not going to be okay. I won't come back. Not ever.

It's a struggle, but I force myself to stop crying and to breathe. The phantasms disappear and I'm alone, it's almost unbearable. I force myself to sit up, and I chug some water before I taste Wren's blood.

I go to pieces again for a few minutes. I dump the water out, and wretch up part of what I've drank. I take the boot of water out and drain it. My throat is parched, I feel fevered and delusional. I need this. My stomach feels queasy as I lurch to my feet, I won't eat not now. It'd be useless to.

After a few minutes, I find the paths. There's two. One of them goes off to the south and one to the West. There's lighter footprints to the south, she—because the footsteps are small—will be swifter. She's my first target.

The sun is down, and air is chilled long since. I think I've even missed the night report. So, I just walk, and continue walking. Her footsteps are easy to follow at first, they're rushed. But as the night wanes on, I have to slow down and take out my flashlight from time to time to check the path.

My head and eyes are aching. I feel hollow and gaunt. The tears have left their mark on me, and my face aches from it. I don't know when it started again. But there are tears falling down my face, and I don't have the strength to stop them.

I am numb. I am cold. I am dead inside.


	21. You Were Only in My Way

**Short note only. There probably won't be another update till Friday, just depending how much time I have to finish the next chapter. We're about to embark on a whole new part of Johanna's life since the end of the games is approaching—a part I haven't seen discussed in great detail yet. Best be prepared.**

**As always, please review dears! And thank you for the glowing reviews so far ^_^**

_**W**__**E**__**wear the mask that grins and lies,**__**  
>It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—<strong>__**  
>This debt we pay to human guile;<strong>__**  
>With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,<strong>__**  
>And mouth with myriad subtleties.<strong>_

_**Why should the world be over-wise,**__**  
>In counting all our tears and sighs?<strong>__**  
>Nay, let them only see us, while<strong>__**  
>We wear the mask.<strong>_

_**We Wear the Mask, Paul Laurence Dunbar**_

I force myself onwards. I can't give up, I'm fighting for my grandmother's life, for Sven, for Greta, and for Ivan. I can help them—I can't keep them alive if I give up. I want to curl up and die, but I can't.

So I walk.

Every once in awhile, I flip on the flashlight to check around, but I don't see anything. I'm keeping a quick pace—I know I've got to overtake her. I travel on for a few hours. Her tracks are harder to follow now that she's slowed down. She's careful, very careful. But it's still there to some extent, her trail.

That's when it happens.

Suddenly, I find my feet being pulled out from under me and I'm shooting up into the cold night air upside down. I can't stop my axes from falling off my pack, so I hold onto the one in my hands as tightly as I can. The backpack feels like it's pulling me in half as I hang there.

I start cursing, every word I can think of as I spin myself around quickly wielding my axe, but no one comes. I try using my muscles to pull myself back up, and I grab a hold of my knee struggling to breathe. My left hand is stretching above my foot. I use the edge of the axe blade to saw through the rope.

It's too far away to hack at the rope, so I saw for a few minutes before the rope frays. I land with a big thud on my stomach. Great. Just great. All the air is out of my system as I struggle to breathe. I'm being crushed beneath my backpack, so I roll over gasping. My whole body is shaking and I'm pulling air into my lungs again.

I feel sick now, but I've got to move. This is obviously a trap, she wants to trap me. So I'll let her. Getting on my feet, I come up with a plan. She has to think she's captured me.

That's when I know it's Flux from District 6. The girl with eyes like mine—desperate eyes.

I look around until I find a tree with a thick branch with lots of little branches. With my axe, I chop the limb down and strip it of all the finer branches except four. I drag it to where the leftover rope hangs in the air. Walking to the base of the tree, I set my pack against it and shimmy up.

It takes time, but less than it use to for me to untie knots. I drop back down to the ground, where I loop the long branch right below the two smaller ones so that the rope won't slide off. I throw the rope back over the branch, and pull of my jacket.

I'm shivering as I slip my jacket on over the opposite end of the branch. I use the uneven branches to fill out my sleeves as best I can. It'll do good enough in this light. I climb the tree again, and I pull the branch up hand over hand, the long rope wrapped around my arm. I'm huffing and puffing by the time I secure it in place. There's a thin sheen of sweat on my skin as I slide back down the tree. I huddle a few feet away in the shadows and settle in beside my pack.

I stand there unmoving beside the trees, blending in with what's around me. The axe is resting in my hand, blade on the ground to keep the light from reflecting off of it. The backpack is on, and my hand is holding the knife in my waist band.

As my fingers touch the handle, I can feel the dried blood. It sets my teeth on edge when I remember whose blood is on that blade. Wren. My heart is crying out, but I don't move. I don't do anything. Everything must reside under this mask. I can't shift, I can't think of sad things. This mask must remain in place if I'm going to come home to my family.

I can feel anything I want, but from now on, I need to keep it away from the Capitol's—from Snow's eyes. I don't want to become some token to him. I just need to make it through, keep up a brave face for my district. Then on the train ride home, I can go to pieces. Then, I have to remain whole as long as Greta and Sven can see me—a life sentence of wearing a mask of happiness.

But they'll be happy, they'll be whole even if we can never reach beyond Snow's grip. We'll have to be careful, do anything he asks. But we can be as safe as most people dream about these days—as long as I live. As long as I live—so I must live forever then.

…

My eyes grow accustomed to the dark as I stand there unmoving. Horrible images in my mind playing over and over again. At times, I almost think I can hear Wren or Liam's voice, or feel a breath on my neck…I begin to wonder, if the arena isn't rigged to make you feel this way. Can they even do that? Somehow, I think they can.

It starts in softly, the light tread of footsteps as I'm waiting. It's just a ruffle of leaves, until I see the spear shoot out from the shadows and into what looks like my suspended body. She's hurrying forward, a knife blade in her hand when I act. Carefully, removing the knife from my waistband, I hurl it at her.

Flux's eyes flicker down just in time to catch a flash before the shaft buries itself deep in her chest. For a moment, she doesn't falter or move—then the blade falls from her hand and she crumples to her knees—her hands touching the blade in her chest.

I walk across the clearing toward her, axe in my hands—prepared in case she attacks. But she just kneels there, touching the blade in her chest. "You," her voice is hoarse. "I knew it would be you."

"How?" I question her as I kick her blade a few feet away, not daring to bend down to pick it up when I was this close.

"It was in your eyes, when they called your name. Before you started to scream." She's smiling at me, "I knew you were like me. Waiting. It was going to be one of us."

"I saw you, too." So she knew then too who I really was?

"Have you killed him yet? Killed Aeon?" Her eyes are boring into mine in the dim light.

"He's waiting. I wanted you first." I keep watching her before I ask, "You're not even going to try to do me in?"

Flux laughs loudly, "No. Because then he'd win. As soon as this blade is out my chest…then you can hunt him. Let him know who you really are."

"What makes you think he hasn't guessed like you?" I shift the axe in my hands slightly.

"Because he didn't see who I was till I killed Onyx. He didn't think I was anything but useful with snares." Her hands are still firm on the blade, as she kneels there. "He tortured them you know."

"I know." That crazy look in his eyes was unmistakable. The way he relished talking about killing us all. Deep down, we all knew that he was sadistic. Maybe not as bad as the pair from two, but that he actually had enough strength and composure to carry the whole thing out to the end. "How do you know I'm any different?"

"Figured you would, but I thought you should hear it from someone who was there." She pauses again, "Because, we're alike. You just wanna go _home._" Her voice is anguished for a moment, "One of us should." She pauses again before asking, "Wren?"

"I finished him." I hide the sadness in my voice, keeping my tone flat and even.

She considers a moment, "Better than if Aeon played with his food." She yanks the blade from her chest, and I see her life spilling out of her quickly as the blade falls from her fingers. "You'll need this back now."

Flux keeps looking at me for another minute, before her eyes roll back into her head and she falls over. I have to admire her, it's how I would have done it. Going out on my own terms.

I know it's safe to pick up the weapons when the cannon booms.

…

I riffle through her pockets. There's no food or water I'd dare take from her. She'd likely poison it or something. I find her token—a small black stone and pocket it. It takes me a few minutes but, I shimmy up the tree and cut the log down to get my jacket off. Breaking the spear, I assess the damage to my jacket. It's a small rip. It shouldn't make much difference.

Slipping the jacket back on, I revel in it's warmth as I grab some jerky out of my pocket and begin following the path back to their campsite. Back to find Aeon.

But after I walk a few feet, I decide I've had enough. Lets not play anymore. I start making my way to where we first came into the arena—the large meadow by the Cornucopia.

Everything will end where it began.


	22. The Lion and the Lamb

**Enjoy and please review!**

_**The dew of the morning**_

_**Sunk chill on my brow—**_

_**It felt like the warning**_

_**Of what I feel now.**_

_**When We Two Parted, Lord Byron**_

My body is turned towards the meadow. It's easy going, almost like it's downhill. It's the walk home after all—or the walk to death. But in the light of day it will end. I walk long into the night, before I climb a tree to rest. I know I won't really sleep. But at least, I can sit and eat.

I finish off all my bread, and more than half of the remaining jerky. I drain a complete boot full of water as I wait for the sun to rise. It begins just like any other day, and I wonder if the sun knows that today will be bloody? Today, either Aeon or I will die.

Does the sun even know or care? How can it see what we do to each other and not hide it's face and refuse to shine? A world like this doesn't deserve light, but we still have it.

I enjoy the beauty of it, and think of mornings back home rising for work. It was refreshing to set out and swing my axe for an hour of work before school. There are Saturdays when I eat my meal, and swing axes until late into the day when I go home for supper. Lunch had never been a meal, I could afford for myself when I became head of the family—that was reserved for Sundays.

I remembered, I'd disappear before dawn on odd jobs until I met Ivan. Then my Sundays were with him. I remember how little by little he broke away the wall I'd built around me. Somehow he found a way in, and I felt like he understood beneath my sarcasm I really did care. He found the part of me I'd been hiding from everyone for so long, and slowly I found my way deeper into his arms.

A year of stolen kisses, snatching love at odd moments like it was reality rather than a fairytale. It was a life we'd always known wasn't meant for us, that we should never be able to love like this in District 7. It had been like that odd foreshadowing of what was coming—this Game was meant to tear us apart. But, my desperation has brought me this far. And despite all odds, I live still.

My brother's words come back to me, from sometime in my childhood. It was a Sunday, when he first took me with him to swing an axe—my birthday. We had a wonderful day enjoying a picnic of bread and poppy seeds as we relaxed. That's when he gave me the present he'd saved for. It was old, battered book that he got as payment for doing some wood work for a peacemaker. His hands were expert even then—the gift of a master.

I remember the laughter, the giddiness as I opened the pages—mythological creatures. I remember his voice as he read to me of all the creatures because I loved the gruff sound of his voice. I heard of Cerebrus, Gryphons, Cyclops and my favourite of all—the phoenix.

No story enthralled me as much as phoenixes. Though why they lived and died was recounted many ways, one thing was consistent—rebirth. But my favorite tale, the one that Liam most often read me was that only one phoenix ever existed at a time, never anymore or any others. It would grow old and die, and amongst it's ashes it would be reborn.

My finger draws the sideways eight on my leg as I sit there—eternity. That was what Liam had promised me, what maybe Wren had seen in me too. The soft voice of my brother explaining to me that phoenixes were real because he knew one. I couldn't believe he hadn't shown me, and I asked in outrage why he hadn't. I still remember the smile as he spoke, "You're the phoenix, Johanna. Remember that." He etched the sideway eight, the promise of eternity on my arm. "You'll always rise from the ashes, always burn bright and strong….fierce and loyal. One of a kind. There wont' ever be anyone else like you."

It has taken all this time in the arena for his words to come home to me. It's a moment he had not wanted me to experience, but that he had prepared for. Whatever happened in this arena, I would survive—I would be reborn of flames and ash. The promise of eternity—of surviving. I can feel the idea burning hot within me as I sit there. It's not just passion or desperation anymore, it's outright surety and faith.

But something is wrong. I don't know what makes me feel it, but something is wrong. I shift around in my tree and I see no one and nothing. I am completely alone. But something is wrong, I can feel it in my very essence. I crawl down the tree then move swiftly, because I fee like something is happening or about to happen—something terrible.

I can feel the anxiety welling up, and it's everything I can do to keep my pace steady. I must remain in control or at least look like it. Everyone is watching me, waiting for me to make the move that's going to kill me. I can almost see them betting in the Districts and in the Capitol. The odds would still not be in my favor.

Despite my surety, I could still feel that cold sense of dread creeping up on me. Something was defiantly wrong. But nothing was wrong…Nothing, anywhere. What was the matter?

…

I walk until noon. Instead of my anxiety abating, it's tingling in my stomach. But it's not…it's not a fear of something here, it's not even fear of Aeon. It's this odd feeling that something is wrong. Something is desperately wrong. But I can't figure it out. My palms are sweating when I reach the edge of the clearing. This is the end, it all ends here.

I wait for an hour. The odd feeling still overwhelming me, but Aeon has not come. I shift my backpack off my shoulders and move the straps from the bag. It takes a few minutes, but I fasten the two axes on my back, so that I can grab them easily if need be. I drain all of my water from the other boot, and take out my last bottle with some water in it and set it at the bottom of the tree. Carefully, I remove all of my trinkets and place them in my pockets. Moving out into the clearing with a few pieces of wood, I set a fire and throw the backpack on it.

After today, it won't be needed. I'd rather it burn then be in some museum. Things are ending today. I watch and listen as it burns. The weight of the axes on my back keeps me assured that I'm as safe as I can be in the arena. One hand reaches into my pocket as I jingle around the tokens.

And still Aeon is not there. I've grown restless and I know the Capitol has to. So I do what I did to begin my games, way back when my name was called. I play the part I've been given—I rivet the Capitol's audience.

"Aeon! Aeon!" I kick the ashes of the burned out fire, feeling the heat as it floats around. "Don't you wanna come out and play? No more cat and mouse. It's time to meet your doom. Time for the lamb to slay the lion!" I laugh loudly and wickedly. "Are you scared Aeon?"

I hear him, just a moment before he gets there. I turn to see him coming in on my path. He looks confused to see me, though he has to know it was going to be me by now. "Johanna? Johanna Mason?"

I tap the wooden shaft of the axe against my hand, "Yeah, that's right. The girl that's going to kill you."


	23. Smoke Fire Flames A Phoenix is Born!

**Okay, I decided to be nice. Because I can't make you wait any longer! This is NOT the last chapter, so don't write me or Johanna off yet. Her games DO end in this chapter, but not her story. I plan on taking her through until well after Mockingjay. This one will go up till Quarter Quell.**

**Johanna is vicious in this, but with understandable reasoning as Aeon is...cruel to say the least. One other thing I should note. I DO use one quote from the books, a line that she says in Catching Fire-I'm sure you know which line that is. But yeah yeah, I'm not Suzanne Collins, etc etc.**

**So please enjoy and I hope you review! Next chapter will probably be up on Wednesday.**

_**This **__**is **__**who **__**I **__**am**__**  
><strong>__**You **__**figured **__**it **__**out, **__**didn't **__**you?**_

_**I'm **__**going **__**hunting**__**  
><strong>_

_**Hunter, 30 Seconds to Mars**_

"Am I supposed to be scared?" He walks toward me, the sword looking almost small in his hands. He's so large, so muscle-bound and intelligent. I want to back away, but I don't.

"You should be," I keep smiling, my muscles tensing for the attack that could happen at any moment.

"Why should I be afraid?" He looks genuinely confused at me.

"Don't you see me for who I really am, Aeon? Or are you too stupid to?" His face reddens at my words, the animalistic rage barely in check. But he doesn't speak. "You see Aeon….I've been playing a game from the moment they called my name."

Here it is Capitol, my big moment of confession. "You see, I wanted you to think I'm weak Aeon. All of you to think it. I'm the granddaughter of a victor."

"What?" I can see him working it out in his mind.

"I fooled you all along Aeon. All of you. Po-po-poor Jo-Johanna Ma-mason," I stutter out. "You pitied me didn't you? You _all_ pitied me." I hold my arms out, "I hate you, because you're in my way. I'm going home and nothing is going to stop me Aeon." My hand is pointing at him now, "Not even you."

I let it sink in for a second. I see the dawning realization as I stand before him, "You fell for it. And while you hunted in your pack, I took you all down little by little." My voice is hoarse, because this is the most I've talked since I left home. "Seven, Aeon. Seven. What's one more?"

I can see that he's realized it now. That all along, I was the one to fear. They'd all mistaken me. I was from some backwards District 7, not capable of the learning or experience they had. But my desperation, my desire to live is something that rivals whatever training they've had.

We're standing there assessing each other, I know I must look a mess—blood smeared and caked across my face, covered in dirt and blood from head to toe. I haven't bathed in days because this is war—even if it does disgust me. And there he is, across from me, almost immaculate except for the bandage on his neck. He's the very image of what a winner should be—when it's over. Clean, slightly scarred, but strong and beautiful—not a shorn, frightened, arrogant, and desperate girl who was half the size of most of the tributes like I am.

"So what are we waiting for little girl?" He shifts the blade in his hand, that maniacal glint evident in his eyes.

"For you to man up," I feel the smile inching across my face.

We're rushing at each other across the meadow, I gather speed quickly so that I can match his force somewhat. Our blades crash together, and the force he exhibits is so much greater than the boy from District 1—my very bones are vibrating with the jarring of his weapon. But I can tell by his face, that I've at least exceeded his expectations.

We both stagger back a moment, before clashing again. He's skilled, a master in swordsmanship and it's all I can do to parry the flurry of blows. I barely stave off a blow to my leg from cutting deep. A thin line of blood opens up, and I can feel the sting of it as I try to keep my balance. We're twisting in and out, I thought my fight before with the other boy was strenuous, but it is nothing compared to this.

I'm losing, I can feel it as he pushes me back with his superior strength. He knows it, I know it. He's driven me back to the pile of ashes. With all his strength he launches me a few feet back into the ash, flat on my back. The soot and ashes swirl around me and over me.

I'm so tired, and out of breath. I can't gain an inch in this battle. But the ashes…the ashes! My free hand grips it for a moment, digging in and absorbing strength from it. From the ashes, a phoenix arises. I am the phoenix!

I. AM. THE. PHOENIX.

It wells up inside of me, and I roll quickly to the left—his blade sinking in where I had just laid. I'm to my feet, weaponless. I pull out one of the weapons I've made, and I throw it the short distance at him as I dive for the axe I left behind. He rolls his left shoulder back, the blade flying past him as his right arm juts forward because of the angle he's at now. My left hand closes around the Capitol-made axe and I swing it up neatly.

Blood spews everywhere as the blade severs his wrist, above the jutting bone from his hand. Aeon gives out a grunt as he swings his sword at me with his right hand. I barely throw myself away from the blow meant to decapitate me. He's slow now, and the blood spilling out has left him pale.

I roll back to my feet, and with all the mustered rage I have, I sever his right hand from his other arm. He's standing there, a mighty shell, handless and rage filled glaring at me. I'm huffing and puffing, but we both know it's over now.

I step forward and push him down as the blood leeches from him. I kick him back onto his back and stand over him, relishing the moment. I hate myself for how I'm feeling, but I can't bare it. "I told you this is how it would end."

"You don't have to do this Johanna." He offers, a grimace on his face.

"No. I do. You didn't have to torture Wren or the others. But you did. But me…I have to kill you." I slide the blade along the side of his face, opening up a thin cut as he flinches.

"So he was nothing!" Aeon is filled with rage.

I use my foot to tilt his chin up, as I slowly place my axe blade on his neck. I can feel the burn of tears in my eyes at the way he mentions him. He was better than us both, but instead it comes out in my typical way which is far from what I really mean. "He wasn't much, but he was from home."

I lift the axe up, I see Aeon staring at me defiantly. He's going to make this as difficult for me as he can. His eyes are looking at me unblinkingly as I bring the axe down on him. Blood splatters my arms and face as his head parts from his body. I'm shaking as I look down at those still unblinking eyes as the cannon booms.

I back away, I feel sick as the voice comes over the arena. It's Caesar Flickerman and the words he says tells me it's over. "We bring to you, Johanna Mason of District 7. The winner of the 69th Hunger Games!"

The arena is filled with thunderous applause.


	24. The Truth From Verity

**A little earlier than expected. Hope you enjoy, I'm sure Johanna's not X_X.**

** Also thanks to my faithful reviewers cmfgirl, melliemoo, Solaryllis, and Leia 96. I really appreciate it! And thank you to Tootie Fruity for the lovely review. I was going to message you a thank you, but I couldn't find your link. Also great thanks to the inspiring anon review.**

_**As **__**it **__**enters **__**the **__**ear, **__**does **__**it **__**come **__**in **__**like **__**broken **__**glass **__**or does **__**it **__**come **__**in **__**like honey?**__**  
><strong>__**Eddie **__**Condon**_

I drop the axe and move away as the hovercraft descends on me. I'm frozen for a moment as I'm pulled up. My whole body is numb, absolutely numb.

By the time I'm in the hovercraft, my tears are blinding me and I sit there with my head in my hands as the tears roll down my face silently. I feel arms wrapped around me, not strong but weak—feeble arms. But despite that, I feel some sort of comfort as I bury my face into someone's neck and clamp my arms around them—whoever it is.

I'm sobbing in a muffled way onto that someone's neck when the revulsion hits. It's Blight. I'm hugging Blight. As much as I want to push myself away, to scream and claw out his eyes I can't untangle myself. He's a Victor too. He understands how I feel, he understands what happened there…almost anything is forgiveable.

_Almost._

I push myself away from him and lay on the cold floor, wretching up the pieces of bread that had been my breakfast this morning. And even though my eyes are closed, I can still see Aeon staring at me.

Blight's hands try to comfort me again, but I slap away at him. I just want to lay here until I can pull it together. It's been so long since I've fallen apart, since I've been home…since I was really Johanna.

I cry myself out and just lay there exhausted for the rest of the trip back. Blight is just out of reach, laying beside me staring into my eyes. It's his way of comforting me, and I hate him for it. I hate him so much that it wells up in me until, I push my tear stained and bloody body from the floor and I lunge at him.

He doesn't move or react as I try to kill him. He's pinned beneath my knees and my bare hands are around his throat, but all he does is throw his hands up. He's just looking at me. "Die!" I choke it out then I let go, sobbing again. "Why…why did you kill him?"

I feel strong arms dragging me away into another room. In another minute, I'm off the hoverplane and in a clean white room. A woman with tight pulled face approaches me, looking me over. "Are you in pain?"

I just look at her. How can she ask that? Every part of me is screaming in agony. I don't respond as more people come into the room. Their deft hands are washing my face, and I feel the burn as they clean my cheek. It's numbed as they put something over it. "No stitches," the doctor assures me. "It won't even scar." She assures me of the same thing as she fixes my leg.

For a few minutes, she accesses and tests the hand I sewed up myself. "Quite good, actually. Suprisingly no infection. You're a very sharp girl." She says it like I'm some pet she's proud of for grasping a difficult concept.

"Well, I don't need to be a doctor to understand infection. Seems it took you awhile to grasp," I say bitingly.

Her face pales as she looks up at me, but she doesn't say anything else as she injects my hand with something. I'm guessing it's some kind of medicine to make sure I don't get infection. I don't' really know or care.

…

I'm back in my room for only a minute when Verity comes on. She's fidgeting, a little scared of me. Her eyes are filled with tears, but she comes to me. She wraps her arms around me, her tiny body pressed to me. "I'm so happy to see you, Johanna."

"Only because I'm the only victor you've had in years," I retort.

"That's part of it," she flinches. "But I'm glad we could bring home one of the Masons." She pulls away from me and heads to the bathroom.

I follow after her, watching her as she presses buttons and turns dials. "You mean, after Blight got my brother killed?"

"But he didn't."

"What do you mean? Of course he did?"

She looks up into my face, "Johanna. He blames himself, but it was your brother's idea. Don't you understand? He told you what you needed to hear. Hate is a strong emotion, and it was meant to get you through the game. Liam…" she pauses. "He loved you very much, and he thought if he worked with the pack that he could come home to you. But they wouldn't accept him, they wouldn't accept any outsider's that year. But he'd already put in a bid as the strong one. He had to follow through with it."

"You're just trying to protect Blight!" I scream.

"No, Johanna. I'm trying to let you know the truth. He made a decision, just like you, of how to play his game. He just didn't pick the right one, you did. But…" she pauses. "I think, you can understand that if he'd have won—you'd have died. Targeted from the beginning. He wouldn't regret that decision, would he?"

I couldn't argue with that. Because, I could see him doing it and I don't think he'd been unhappy that his death had given me life. I don't speak as Verity helps me off with my clothes and into the shower.

As I clean the grim off my body, and out of my hair, she leans against the edge of the sink. I think she understands that I don't want to be alone.

It all echoes in my mind and I'm trying to understand. Blight made me angry to help me to survive. He gave me a goal—the goal to come home to kill him. But I don't understand. He saw through me, he wouldn't doubt I'd do it. He'd risked his life to bring me home—he couldn't know that I still wouldn't kill him. I still wanted to, but I understood something vaguely. He wasn't scared of dying. Why? Was it because he'd lived through the games? Because there was nothing left? Maybe he was too weak to end himself? Or too strong to end himself?

I don't know. I can't pretend to understand anymore.

…

I stay in the shower for a long time, and Verity doesn't try to hurry me. I come out where I'm blown instantly dry. She gives me a fluffy robe, and I look at myself in the mirror for the first time since before the games. The cut on my cheek stands out against my pale face. My hair is uneven and short-ish. But the most remarkable change is in my face, it's gaunt—not with hunger but with tension with loss. It's the face of someone haunted.

I take a deep breath, and put up the mask I'll have to wear for the public for the rest of my life. Because, I can't let them see what this has done to me. I can't lose it. But I'm interrupted from my thoughts as Verity leads me into my room. After a few minutes, she's snipping at my hair. It's very short, but at least it's even.

I run my fingers through it, it's soft and silky—kind of spiky. I can't help but like it. Verity takes my hands in hers as I'm sitting in my robe. "Listen to me Johanna, I know you don't like me. But listen. President Snow is going to call for you. Whatever you do, listen to him."

I'm about to object when there's a hasty knock at the door. Verity opens it to show a guard standing there, "President Snow would like to see Ms. Mason at her leisure."

I can feel my stomach dropping. What have I done that President Snow wants to see me?


	25. Controlled

_**The battle is all over except the "shouting" when one knows what is wanted and has made up his mind to get it, whatever the price may be. **_  
><em><strong> Napoleon Hill <strong>_

Verity helps me into some pants and a long sleeve shirt. It's not what I'd think would be fitting of him wanting to meet me, but I don't question it. In less than five minutes, I'm out the door and being taken to him.

I'm taken to a car with dark windows. It slips through the streets and no one realizes that their most recent victor is inside. I'm lead into his mansion, and up the lush velvety stairs to where he must be waiting for me.

I stand there for a few minutes, before a door opens. A tall, copper headed young man walks out with sunglasses on. For a moment, he stops to look at me, sliding the glasses down his nose. Sea green eyes meet mine, and I realize that he's not just anyone. He's another victor—it's Finnick Odair.

Before I can process it though, he's gone and I'm sitting in front of President Snow in a low seat. His chair is higher than mine, and he's looking down at me. I don't say anything, trying to remember what Verity said to me.

He presses his plump limps together, and I can't help but think he looks even more garish and snake-like in person than on the television. I can almost see him coiled up, venom dripping from his mouth, ready to strike at me. With his next words, I find out just how right I am.

"Ms. Mason. Let me begin by saying that I don't intend to lie to you." Strange, I think. But he purse's his lips together. "I know you don't believe me, but you'll see that I'm quite frank. There are certain, duties expected of a Victor." He shuffles some papers around on his desk. "Do you understand what I mean?"

His cold eyes are assessing me, but I shake my head.

"I thought not." I want to retort angrily that I'm not stupid, but I bite it back. "You see…Victors are quite special people, and often there are patrons who would pay to…spend time with these Victors." He pauses delicately, "Special time. I'm sure you understand what I mean now, Ms. Mason?"

I feel the hot color in my cheeks, and find myself standing up before I can stop myself. "You want me to be a prostitute?" I spit out.

"I want you to show how grateful you are to these people for being allowed to live. For me allowing your family to be left alone, Ms. Mason." He's staring at me in that cold, cruel way again.

I sink back to my chair, and I realize I've been threatened. If I value my family, I have to do what he wants. Whatever he wants, because he's allowing them to live as long as I'm useful.

"Let's be clear," and my voice is even as I speak. "I do what you want, and you leave my family alone? The peacekeepers, everyone leaves my family alone?"

"I think we understand each other Ms. Mason. So do you…agree to these amiable terms?"

What choice do I have? If I say no, he'll make an example of me probably. I understand that now. Winning isn't winning. It's a life-time sentence of servitude to the Capitol as a sex slave—or at least until there's nothing that can stop you from refusing. But I don't have that luxary, there are people I love.

My eyes meet his, and I think how easy it would be to grab a pen from his desk and thrust it through his heart. But then what would happen to my family? "I understand perfectly."

"I'm so glad, Ms. Mason that we could find agreeable terms. Be ready by 10 PM tonight." He motions me away with his hand, "Please show yourself out. And congratulations on your win."

His lips are in that plump line as I walk out. I feel sick. So this is what a Victor has to do to live after the arena?


	26. Worse Than the Games

**Again, another chapter I can't ask you to "enjoy". But I do hope you please review!**

**Pardon me while I got sob in the corner and call myself a heinous villian T_T**

_**Hell is empty and all the devils are here.**_  
><em><strong> William Shakespeare<strong>_

When I get back to my room, I throw myself on my bed for what feels like a very short time. I'm face down in the pillows when Verity comes in. She sits down in the room and doesn't say a word until I get up.

When I do, she takes a small bag out and shows me some items while positioning me in front of a mirror. After an hour has passed, I know how to apply eyeliner, eye shadow, concealer and base.

Verity has explained to me that at times, I might be living with a man in the Capitol. I will be expected to do at least minimal make-up for at home wear. The concealer she notes, helps cover up unsightly bruises.

She tells me a lot of little things that I should know. How to keep my eyes down if I become very angry—to not be afraid to have a bit of a temper because they'll admire that. But to remember each action here, is a consequence back home.

I thought that was bad enough, but the next part is somehow worse as she shows me the slight and lacey things the Capitol women wear as underclothes on regular days. I'm blushing profusely by the time she shows me what she refers to as the negligee' for sexy "romps".

Even though I've been intimate with Ivan, I find the idea of him seeing me in this unnerving. The idea of anyone else seeing me like this is downright upsetting. I can barely keep the anger and the anxiety from overtaking me, but I manage.

…

After a few hours, I'm in a barely there slinky black mini dress with black tights on, and high heels that make me wobble just a bit. My hair is spiked up a little, and my make-up is made of dark, accentuating shadows. My lipstick however is crimson, setting off the pale tone of my face and somehow making my cut show slightly through the make-up.

As I look at myself in the mirror, I can hardly believe that it's me anymore. I look hard, but sultry and confident. But I guess, when you're acting and convincing is what protects your family—you can do anything at all, even this.

It's almost time when I slip on a long black coat, and Verity helps me to the elevator. "Remember," her voice is low. "Your eyes, watch your eyes. They like your heat, your passion but they're fickle so be careful." I nod my head, feeling like one of the little tramps in my district who have to resort to this to bring food to their starving families in the winter. But now, I understand them. Before, I thought it'd be better to die then sink this low. But when it's someone you love, who's depending on you, there's no way to say no.

…

The long black car takes me to his home. I'm let out, and I approach the steps not knowing what to expect. As I reach the top stair, the door is thrown open by an older man. He's slightly gone to seed, with garish blue hair and filed incisors that look like fangs. Despite wanting to turn around and leave, I look at him coolly as I pull my cloak further up around me.

"Johanna Mason! I've been waiting for you!" His hand is on my arm as he pulls me through the door.

…

The next few hours passed in chaos, slowly like a nightmare. His breath strong with the smell of beer as he shoved his tongue in my mouth. His hands rough and bruising as he tried to take the dress off of me with his shaking hands, before finally asking me to strip for him.

But worse of all was his ridiculous efforts to make this "easier" on me. Blindfolded and my hands cuffed to the bed posts, as he moved against me. I'm trying not to scream in this complete sensory deprivation, I'm trying not to kick or panic—because if I do, this will just take longer and what could be worse than that?

But it does get worse, because when he's done—after a remarkably long time of getting nowhere, he passes out on me. I can smell the stench of beer and sweat floating up to me, while his head lays on my bare breasts. I'm trying to choke back a sob, because I'm going insane.

This is the first time I've been with anyone but Ivan. I'm exhausted from the Arena, but I can't sleep like this—not when every little sound I hear makes me jump, makes me shake with fear. It's like I'm back there already.

But after an hour or two, he makes his apologies and releases me asking if it was good for me too. Good for me? I want to shout at him. I've killed before, but this—this was the most horrible moment in my life so far. I had one last piece of me to myself, but not anymore. Demurely, I nod my head which he takes for shyness.

It's only a matter of minutes, before I'm dressed again. His wife is coming home and I have to be out by then.

…

I spend the rest of my night in my own bed, sobbing until my tears are almost gone. I shower and shower, but the filth of what has happened doesn't leave my body. What I wouldn't' give to have my stylists scrub my body like the first day I was here, until my skin was raw.

…

If the first night was bad, then this one is far worse. Where the man before had been kind if disgusting this man is brutal. I know it from the moment he rips off my blue dress. I'm standing there in my underclothes and I'm scared, because he looks like he's about to kill me.

"You can't be Johanna Mason…" He licks his lips like he's looking at some feast.

"Who else would I be?" But it's not the same biting remark as usual.

He advances on me, and I don't move. I stand my ground though I'm scared. "Where's your fire, Johanna?" Before I can respond, he slaps me so hard across my face that I fall back into the wall.

I'm stunned for a moment, before I react. I bring my hand up hard across his face. He's shocked at the force of it, but he advances on me pressing my against the wall—pinning me. But I'm fighting him. I can feel my fingers draw blood as I rake my hands across his face and shoulders.

I'm thrown even harder into the wall, my underclothes ripped of. I feel his arms like vices holding me there, my feet clearing the ground by inches. I'm kicking at him, but he's winning. The bruises are welling up already under his hands. I sink my teeth into his neck, not to evoke pleasure but blood.

But no matter how hard I fight or resist, he just wants me more. His hands are around my neck, and then there's nothing.

…

I wake up as the sun is rising, blaring in my eyes. My whole body feels like a giant bruise, and my throat is swollen and sore. I realize I'm laying on a table with my legs hanging off and on the floor a few feet over is the vicious man passed out.

Memories of last night come to mind. He strangled me over and over again, and I fought him tooth and nail. I don't know how much more of this I can take. But when I think of Greta and Sven—what Snow will do to them if I don't, I know that I could do far worse things than this for them.


	27. Survival

**Thank you for all your glowing reviews! They really make me feel good about my writing and it's nice to know that Johanna is finally getting the attention she deserves though it's not a story she'd ever tell you.**

**_"But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of."_**

**_Lord Byron_**

Sitting on the edge of the table, I feel the dizziness overwhelming me for a moment. I grip the edges hard as I place my feet on the floor. The world lurches suddenly and violently, but I grit my teeth and force myself to stand.

I stumble forward until I find the tatters of my dress, it's not even worth putting on. It takes a few minutes to find my mostly intact underclothes, but it takes even longer to slip them on without falling over. I ease my feet into my shoes and then pull my coat on over it, before making my way to the door.

I don't know where I am or how I'll get back to the Training center, but I am not staying here. I ease out the door, the bright light of the sun just dawning causing my head to throb. I make my way down the steps, just as the car that dropped me off arrives. I don't even bother questioning it, I just get inside.

…

The elevator opens on my floor. Well, really isn't the whole building mine now? All the other floors are empty—this is just a place filled with ghosts—ghosts of sixty-nine years. I bypass my room, because the sweet aroma of warm bread is making my stomach ache with hunger.

When I get to the table, my coat blaring open showing me in my underwear, I realize I'm not alone. Blight is sitting there, pouring a steaming cup of coffee. At first, I want to cover myself up, but I don't. I won't let him see I'm uncomfortable. I slip my shoes off and saunter over there to him, and he stands up.

He looks exhausted. His hands reach toward me, and I have the urge to slap him. But his hands remove my coat gently and lay it over the back of the chair before he hands me my soft robe. He helps me into it, and I find myself once again questioning who Blight really is. Is it true what Verity said?

How did he ever win? He's weak, tired, and reclusive. He's lived all alone in that Victor's home for all his life, no friends—no family, no one at all. But I know, there has to be more to the story.

I fill a cup with coffee and I'm just about to drink a cup when he takes the cup from me. Picking up a large bottle filled with amber liquid, I watch him pour in a spoonful of it in my coffee. "Drink up, 'Anna."

I glare at him, "Don't ever call me 'Anna, again."

"Or what? You'll kill me?" He's looking at me seriously, no pain or fear in his eyes. "I'm not afraid to die, Johanna. Not afraid at all, I've been dying a little everyday for years." He takes another sip of the coffee, "Drink up."

For a moment, I think about throwing the hot liquid in his face, but I decide against it. Taking a sip, I can taste the alcohol in it. It's not that strong, mixed with the coffee. I can feel the slight burn in my throat as it goes down inside my body spreading it's warmth. Everything feels a bit rosey. I finish off my cup, and reach for the bottle, but he pulls it away from me.

"No, Johanna. That's enough." He gives me warm rolls, with butter and honey spread on it. "Eat this."

I do what he says, simply because it's what I intended to do anyways. I don't know what to think of him, I don't know what Blight is the real Blight. I just blurt out my question, "I don't see how you won."

He takes another sip of his coffee, and butters another piece of bread with butter and honey and sets it on my plate. "Unlike you Johanna, my goal was never to survive—only to save someone." He sips his coffee again, his eyes are looking distant.

While I eat, he seems lost in his own world. I feel better now, relaxed a bit not so sore, but not numb either. An hour passes as I munch, it feels nice to be safe. I don't understand why, but somehow Blight has turned into a symbol of safety for me. It's odd, because a part of me still wants to kill him, still wants to believe Liam is dead because of him.

The truth is, I really don't know anymore and things just aren't that simple.

But his next words, rouse me out of my mind. "I knew your father once," his voice is vacant and I notice he's not really here.

My anger is welling up inside of me, and I throw a plate shattering it against the wall. "You keep saying that!" I'm shaking with rage now. "What is wrong with you?"

But he ignores me as he draws a sideways eight on the table. Eternity.

How does he know? Does he know? Does he understand what this means to me? I can barely breathe, but all he does is stand up and leave me shaking with fury.

…

I'm back in my room, in and out of consciousness when Verity comes in. She helps me cover up the bruises. Luckily, there are no marks on my neck. She doesn't ask questions, maybe because she knows I won't answer.

"There's a party tonight, in honor of another successful Hunger Games." I want to strangle her when she says that. Successful? Making me and others slaughter each other? How sick are these people?

But I keep my tongue in check, because I have to protect the ones I love. She helps me dress in a long green gown with a slit high up to my thigh. It's so silky and luxurious, that I feel so free wearing it. It's like being between sheets in bed, it's relaxing.

I have bracer looking things covering the worse bruises on my arms and I have a small clutch to take with me to repair my make-up as needed. It's no time at all, before I'm off to my first party in the Capitol.


	28. Escape

**Some of you wondered if Johanna met any other victors at the party, and when she was going to meet Finnick. Well, here is the beginning of a very unique friendship.**

**Being as they're Johanna and Finnick...they do things different than us mere mortals. So enjoy this. I had alot of fun with Finnick. He was VERY cooperative!**

_**Friendship **__**is **__**unnecessary, **__**like **__**philosophy, **__**like **__**art...**__**It **__**has **__**no **__**survival **__**value; **__**rather **__**it **__**is **__**one **__**of **__**those **__**things **__**that **__**give **__**value **__**to **__**survival.**__**  
><strong>__**C.**__**S. **__**Lewis**_

The grandeur of the place is shocking. I stand there greeting people and milling around. I'm not required to smile, since I seem like a brooding individual. People fawn over me and touch me—I hate them all.

It's a full hour or maybe two, before I can sneak away to snack on some food. Approaching me is an older man who thinks he's much younger, suaver, and debonair. I feel the revulsion hitting me as he comes close to me, resting his hand on my arm. "It's a pleasure to meet you Johanna Mason."

He makes a lot of small talk, but just as he's leaning in to whisper in my ear—I feel a strong arm slipped around my waist. I glance up quickly as the old man backs away to see Finnick Odair.

He's got a drink in his hand as he looks at the old man with very keen eyes. "I see you've met Johanna Mason." He leaves it hanging in the air as he drains the last drops of his glass. "She and I are quite _good_ friends."

The older man backs away apologetically as Finnick steers me around. He propels me to the kitchen, and grabs a tray of snacks and two drinks without letting go of me. By now, he's got my hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Be quiet will you." He says it offhandedly, as he half drags me through another room, then another, then up the stairs. He looks up and down the hall before he opens the third door and drags me in.

Deftly, he set the tray down on the dresser. It's then I notice, we're in a bed room. "No, thank you." I'm heading back to the door. I may have to do things for Snow, but Finnick wasn't someone I was doing.

Finnick laughs as he pulls me back. "Do you want peace from them or not?" I'm breathing hard, but I nod my head. "Good girl." His fingers are adept as he unzips my dress. I let out a small squeak as it falls to the floor. I'm in my undergarments, and I'm twirling around to slap him but he's across the room.

He's down to just his boxers. I have to admit, he strikes an impressive figure. His body is toned and tanned. His eyes are almost the exact shade of green of my dress. He carries the tray to the bedside, and I'm wondering what the heck he plans on doing when he throws back the sheets. 'Hurry up, Jo. Get in!"

"No," I'm backing away. I hear footsteps in the hall outside.

Finnick runs over and clamps a hand over my mouth and throws me over his shoulder. He throws me down on the bed, and presses to me covering our bodies with the sheet. He's hovering over me, his hand clamped over my mouth, just as I hear someone touching the knob of the door.

He whispers into my ear, "Moan. Do it quickly, unless you wanna be chased around by those drunk old men all night." His hand moves away from my mouth and I gasp for breath.

The door is opening, when I finally give out a moan. "OHHHHH!"

His voice echoes against mine, "Jo, say my name Jo!"

The door closes, just as I shout out, "Finnick!"

He's rolled off of me, and back onto his back. "There that'll keep them away from us and thinking this is some victor love story." He winks at me, "Tell me, am I as good as I sounded?"

I punch at him hard, but for all the effect it has on Finnick I could have just glared and saved my hand the pain. He's got the tray on his stomach, scooping off some kind of meat pies. "Want one?"

I pull the covers up more securely around me, before I pick up one. "So—"

"Nope, not interested in you at all Johanna. Not that you're not lovely and all that," he takes a drink out of one of the glasses.

"Then why?" I finish off the meat pie before taking his glass away and drinking from it.

"Because, I thought we could both use a rest from being bothered by _fans._"

"You too?" I'm peering at him in the dark, it's much easier to see him now that my eyes are adjusted to the darkness.

"For two years now," his voice is a bit bitter.

"Does it get easier?"

"No. But at some point..it does end. You're not a favourite anymore, or the people you love are gone." He takes the glass back and drains it. "I don't think I'll be back after next year."

"Why?" I ask, "How can you know?"

"My mom is dying, she's all I've got left. When she's gone…"

"There's no one left to protect," I finish. I feel the pain well up inside of me as he pulls me close.

"It's okay 'Anna," but I don't stop him from saying it. It's not the same as Blight. He's stroking my hair. "We've got the whole night to be here in silence. No one will bother us. For tonight, we are free."

He lean my head against his chest, and I realize something. I've misjudged Finnick, he's not a whore like I thought. Or well, he is—but I'm one too now. He's someone who knows exactly how I feel. It's a new bond, but it's strong already. We have both survived terrible things, and we're in the same boat.

Whether we like it or not, we are connected.

This is not the way that I had hoped to make friends. Forced to lay in each other's arms and wait for the nightmares to begin. It's not comfort exactly, it's companionship. We're laying here, pretending to be screwing each other to avoid screwing anyone else.

We don't talk, we just lay there eating and sipping on the drinks. I know he probably feels it to. The emptiness, the loneliness what we're forced to do brings. And I wonder how he's kept it together so well.

His voice is soft as he holds me, "Who are you doing this for?"

"Ivan. My grandmother, and my siblings—Greta and Sven." My hand traces an eight on his chest. I ask tentatively, "Do the nightmares ever stop?"

He's silent for a moment, "No. Sometimes you just wake up from them."

I can feel the tears stinging my eyes, "I didn't think so."

"Doesn't feel much like winning does it? Sometimes…" He pauses again, and I can hear his voice thick with emotion, "I wonder if surviving the games isn't the punishment. Because the dead are safe, and we aren't. "

"We won't ever be safe will we?"

He sounds tired, as he speaks again. "Maybe one day…"

We lay there, not speaking and not sleeping for a long time. Only safe because of what people are imagining is going on behind these closed doors—but all there is understanding, friendship, and tears.


	29. You Never Stop Screaming

**Hope you enoy! I LOVE Finnick to death *_* And I've always believed him and Johanna were best friends.**

**Also, the reason I believe Johanna was a prostitute for the Capitol is said by Haymitch.**

**"I'm surprised they didn't just kill you," I say.**

**"Oh, no. I was the example. The person to hold up to the young Finnicks and Johannas and Cashmeres. Of what would happen to a victor who caused problems," says Haymitch. Page 172 of Mockingjay.**

**Also, updates will be every two days now. So you get one today-24th, then 26th, 28th, 30th, 1st, and 3rd etc. I have ALL those chapters already written. As much as I want to release them RIGHT this minute, I can't. I have written them in advance so that I can get some cushion while I do NaNoWriMo for the VERY first time this hear. This way, I can keep writing ahead and write more at leisure on Johanna throughout the month while still doing my NaNo story. I've thought and planned this way in advance so that you don't have to wait a long time for these chapters. So only 2 days apart through Novemeber, possibly to three half way through the month.**

**But at little bit of a teaser about November 3, 2011. There is a very important chapter coming out that day. It's called "Bury Me" where we will find out what it means. It's got some very sad backstory. My friend, who's previewed all the written chapters, hates me for it-enough that she's still reading captivated, but that she's like I'm not talking to you you're "so mean!"**

**So let your minds run wild on this heartwrenching and heartbreaking chapter. One thing I can promise is that there's NO Snow vengeance or anything in this chapter. Hope that helps you breathe a little easier!**

_**"I still get nightmares. In fact, I get them so often I should be used to them by now. I'm not. No one ever really gets used to nightmares."  
>― Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves<strong>_

Screams awaken me. I'm sure that it's my own with the nightmares plaguing me—bloated, watery body of Riley, blue faced Griffin, and headless Aeon coming at me. But it's not my scream, it's Finnick's.

His head is in his hands, and his shoulders are heaving with the effort to find control. Any thoughts that he might be able to comfort me after my nightmares is gone, he can't even comfort himself. I reach over to him, my hand gentle as it lays over one of the one's hiding his face.

It's odd that I'm comfortable with him, here in my underwear. It should be awkward, he's not that much older than me—just eighteen, only two years older. But there's nothing sexual in the way I wrap my arms around him and press my body close. It's the only comfort I can offer him—the assurance that someone is living through the same thing as he is. I don't know what has happened to him entirely, I vaguely remember his game in the haze of my brother's death.

Four years later, and he still goes to pieces in the middle of the night. This is what I have to look forward to. My tears mix with his, and slide down his skin. We both hold on, both still hoping for comfort from the other. But we're both inconsolable. We are both clinging to a fellow shipwrecked victim, hoping the other will keep us afloat. We are both holding on for dear life.

After sometime, we part and lay there staring at the ceiling. Finnick's voice is kind, but sad, "It's nice to be in a bed once without expecting sex."

"I've only been a victor for a few days, and I know what you mean." I brush back my hair, trying to connect imaginary patterns on the ceiling. "Have you thought about ending it?" I say it bluntly.

He laughs lightly, "You're something else." The laughter stops as he begins to speak again, "Yeah, I have. I think we all have or all do. But…there's too many I love still."

"But if you had no one?" I turn my head to look at him.

He's facing me now, and I'm looking into his brilliant green eyes. "I don't know. Maybe…I'd want to live anyways. Look at Haymitch, he has no one. He's free, if you want to call it that. I've hardly ever seen him sober." Finnick turns on his side to look at me. "Are you?"

"If I thought it'd keep my family safe, I would." I sigh and turn toward him too. "But they can't live without me. My grandmother's old, I'm the one who works—worked."

"Won't have to worry about that any more," Finnick laughs before he looks at me serious. "Johanna," he tilts my chin to look me directly in the eye. "Don't leave me alone. It's nice to have someone who understands."

"Doubt you'll ever be alone, Finnick." I smirk at him, "But sure, I won't leave you. Who else would tell you the truth no matter what?"

"Figured you'd be good for it. Besides, I plan on being happy one day."

"Oh really?" I lift an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but I'm not telling. Got me in bed already, can't have all my _secrets_ at once." Finnick reaches out a hand to put on my waist and his eyes look deep into mine again.

I realize that he's more like me than I could have imagined. He's playing a game, he's being who he's expected to be. He's looking into my eyes, trying to tell me something. It's then I realize what he means, he may be being used but he's getting something too—secrets.

I try to think of what to say back to him, without anyone knowing if they hear. "Maybe I have some secrets, too." Because, I realize the more I know the better. I don't know what secrets Finnick knows, but I know that he's trying to tell me that they're important to have, to find out. Keep anything you love or care about locked away, but find out what others are trying to keep safe from you. They're not from the Districts like us, they don't know what can happen with loose lips.

"I bet you do," Finnick closes his eyes. "Get some sleep, Johanna. Tomorrow's your big day. Then you'll get to go home. But I'm only ever a phone call away."

I lay there for a long time, before sleep overtakes me. Who'd have thought the person who understood what I meant without my saying the words would be Finnick Odair?


	30. Scream for Me

**Thanks for all the reviews guys! Here is your update, as promised! We are so close to 100 reviews! Only 14 more to go! You do not know how exciting this makes me.**

**There's not much else that I need to say for this chapter, other than November 3. 0_0**

**So once again, thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing. It means a great deal to me. This isn't just fanfiction for me. When I first read the books, not that many months ago...I was dealing with PTSD causing severe anxiety. This book oddly enough, helped me to cope. In all the books, I have ever read I have never seen such heart-breakingly realistic and severely troubled group as these. I connected to each of them in a way. Katniss's confusion, Peeta's words and imagery, Finnick's mask to the world, Gale's anger and passion, and Johanna's rage. This series has really helped me in a lot of ways, and writing about it-it's amazingly therapeutic. And it really is true, it takes much longer to put yourself back together than fall apart.**

**_To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting._**

**_e. e. cummings _**

It's a cold, grey dawn when I wake up. For a moment, the images of my nightmares come with me. Flux is bleeding in front of me, staring at me. I try to scream at her, but my voice fails. She just stares at me, spitting out blood and focusing on my face.

When I can't stand it any more, I shut my eyes trying to stay sane. That's when I feel his hands, it's the rough hands of a worker—but something about them is soothing. I don't open my eyes, because somehow I know I'm surfacing and he will leave me. Because again, it's the hands of the Avox that comforts me. Only as my nightmare has faded to comforting dream, so has the dream to reality. But the hands still exist, one still linked with mine.

I open my eyes to see that my hand is linked with Finnick's, laying on his chest. My head is nestled in his shoulder, and his chest rises and falls in rhythm. His face is smooth, and peaceful. I lay there unmoving and keep looking at him. He's so relaxed, so different from the Finnick that was screaming earlier. This was the time when the nightmares stop. This was the moment of peace that made everything worth it, and he wasn't awake to enjoy it, but I was.

Maybe the part that stopped the nightmares was letting someone in? Having someone help you forget for awhile…having someone strong enough to talk to about the games. I lay there for awhile enjoying his peace, which makes me feel peaceful. I'm not a patient person in some ways, but this—watching him satisfies my hope that I'm going to be okay…one day.

His eyes open suddenly, they're looking at me with this sudden emotion of fear but I smile back. I know those eyes. I know, I understand that each time his eyes open, he fears he is back in the arena. It's sad that I know it already, when I'm so new compared to him.

"Good morning gorgeous," Finnick laughs pleasantly. "How about some breakfast before we get you back to the Training Center?"

My heart drops, because for awhile I had forgotten that today I would receive my crown and have to rewatch the entire games in front of everyone. "Is it bad?" I ask.

He strokes my spiky hair, "It's easier knowing everyone is watching." His hand slips from mine, and I can feel the tenuous safety I had been clinging to fading. I watch him roll out of bed and stretch before picking up his clothes.

I roll out of bed, finding my dress and slithering back into it, "Help me, Fin?" I turn my back to him to zip up my dress. I feel his fingers expertly zip me up. It's such an intimate but strange moment. It's like we've been doing this for years, which is insane. Because I'm uncomfortable being like this, but not with him. Somehow, it's different.

I turn around to see he's dressed, but his tie is hanging loosely. Before I turn away, I feel his hand under my chin. "That eye's a bit bruised," he says it gently.

"I've got make-up," I turn away afraid he'll ask questions. But he doesn't, he understands. I open up the little bag and take out the small compact mirror before I sit on the bed. I put the basic make-up on and the shadow of the bruise disappears. "There, like it never happened. Right, Fin?"

He smirks and shakes his head as he leads me out of the room.

…

I will never forget the look on the servants face as I came down hand in hand laughing with Finnick. They're jealous, shocked—so many other things that I can't imagine. But they're swift to get us food and to find out where our ride is. We drive back to the Training Center in peace, having picnic with odds and ends of food. We are actually laughing.

I ride the elevator to the fourth floor with Finnick, and he pauses in the doorway. "'Anna," his sea green eyes are looking into mine, his shoes are in his hands but he wraps his arms around me. "You're going to do great, just be yourself. I'm sure everyone will _hate_ you." He smirks as I punch at him again before the door closes.

The next three floors go by quickly, almost as quickly as my friendship with Finnick has begun. Somethings defy logic, defy plans—I didn't want to have friends, or anyone to care about. It was hard enough to take care of the ones I loved already. There wasn't room for anyone else, but Finnick had reached for my hand just like that Avox, and I was helpless to say no.

…

I'm standing beneath the stage for only a minute, before I began to rise. For a moment, I am back in the arena—because this is how it all started, in rising through the darkness. But there is light much quicker this time, and the thunderous applause.

I can feel the vicious smile playing on my lips, because they don't know that as much as they love me—it's not as much as I hate them. They're screaming my name, but I'm imagining how one day, I will make them pay for what they have done to me. I see my face flash on the screens, darker more natural tones highlight it to bring out the vivid brown eyes. My hair is short and spiked, my arm bands are styled after the braid I cut off in the arena—garishly twisting up my arms as a reminder of how I strangled—of how I pulled a log up a rope to fool my enemy. But I know the truth, to hide the bruises of the "love" of the Capitol.

I am wearing, as I promised Blight, the red dress—fierce red like autumn leaves. It clings to me, and falls just perfectly. It is not contrived, it is not overly fancy—it is simply perfect. It screams my name, it screams that I am fierce.

I greet Caesar Flickerman coolly, as if I'm unimpressed with him. Let's face it, I'm not. I'm trying to be the Johanna, that Finnick said to be. Maybe they'll hate me and leave me alone. But instead, they love me.

I'm sitting on my throne, glaring at the audience. My head is held up haughtily, and I look comfortable. I look fierce. I sit there, not glazed over as I've seen other Victors, but somewhat interested if disdainful. I watch the earlier parts of the game because it is all new to me. But as I appear more and more on screen, I can feel the sick feeling pulling at me. So to cover it up, I yawn and cover my mouth. It gives me just a tiny moment to compose myself. I am impassive for the rest of my show.

President Snow comes toward where I sit, and places a light crown on my head. The crowd goes wild, and I am finally dismissed.

…

The next hours, up into dawn is coming again, I am at a party for my honor in the President's mansion. All I do is greet people, and there's no way of escape even if I wanted to. I'm given regular bathroom breaks, and if I hurry a glass of water or a bite of food on the way back.

Finally, it's over. All the donors, or people who would have donated to me are welcomed and thanked. They've fawned over me, touched me, took pictures, gotten autographs—all kinds of stupid stuff.

I make it to the Training Center without incident. I feel sick at the thought of another meal—even if it's only a tired breakfast—with Blight and his crypticness. I think I might actually kill him tonight. But as I arrive on my floor, I see Finnick.

I'm so relieved and so forgetful that I shouldn't' have friends that I run into his arms. He's come to save me from Blight.


	31. Johanna the Bloodthirsty

**I was excited today to do my little AN at the top of this for it's release and to tell you of a few things. Yesterday, I finished my pumpkin entry and costume. I did an entire photoshoot of Johanna Mason's games. Unfortunately...no lake, or hair strangling and the axe scene was a bit different. But...yeah. Let me know if any of you want to see them! Or my pumpkin ^_^**

**There was more I wanted to say, but...I really don't feel like it today. My mom had to put down her cat of 15 years today-kidney failure. And then I went to check on her house while she's gone to a Dr. appt to find that her 17 year old cat had died. Same day.**

**So it's been a rough and tearful day.**

**Thanks for the reviews and support loves! **

**Also, I will be going over this later (all chapters) to check for word errors and stuff. I noted a few, but I'm going to reread again and check stuff. If anyone would like to help with that you can PM anything you find in the chapters (if you've reviewed already) or leave it in the reviews. Help is appreciated!**

**I also plan on doing MANY more tribute stories. I'm not sure who I will do after my Johanna triology, but I'm leaning towards Cashmere and Gloss because of a awesome idea I got. Though I also plan on writing Finnick, Annie, Peeta's POV, Haymitch, Titus, Enobaria, and possibly some more at some point plus a few one shots I have planned.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed and to 73. I can't reply to your review (there are others of you too, not sure why I can't reply though?) And Finnick calls Johanna, "'Anna" because he's supposed to feel like a brother to her and Liam called her that. **

_**"Bloodlust – the disease that makes us the monsters we are known to be; it is what wipes away the last of our humanity."**_  
><em><strong>― Daniele Lanzarotta, Bloodlust<strong>_

He holds me for a minute, before I compose myself. I separate from him quickly, pulling the mask back in to place somewhat. "What you doing here Fin?"

"Waiting for you to get home." He winks, "You party too much." He wraps his arm around my shoulder as he leads me to the table. It's already laid with fresh bread. But it's tinted green. He reaches down and hands one to me, "From my home."

I bite into, appreciating the warm and slightly salty taste as we sit down. The first few minutes, it's almost normal. Blight is there, but he's quiet—letting Finnick do all the talking, which he is. Funny little stories about life at home, and about his stylists with their torturous routines to "make me beautiful."

I laugh outright, "Have ever been not beautiful Fin?"

"No, I've always been just this amazing. If I was any more amazing, no one could stand it." He sips a glass of wine, then offers me a taste.

I take a tiny sip, the bitter flavor causes me to make a face. "How can you like that stuff?"

"It's an acquired taste," he shrugs but his face has gone dark. "'Anna, we've got to talk about your interview."

"What?" I look into his sea green eyes, waiting for whatever he's going to say.

"Just, what are you going to say about your family?"

"Oh," well, I hadn't really thought about that. I'd just mentioned that I wanted to go home. Never anything about Ivan, my grandmother, or Sven and Greta. I had attempted to hide them from the Capitol as much as I could. "Did they show them when I was in the final eight?"

Finnick fills his glass again before he answers, "No. They didn't. They did show everyone else's, so I'm thinking they went with your story—the lone descendant of Nicholai Gregor winning. So you need to be careful what you say Johanna. Okay?"

I nod my head. I still must lie to keep the Capitol from knowing them, if he doesn't ask then…maybe I can even save them from the reaping one day. What fun would it be to reap a relative of Johanna Mason when she says she has no family?

…

I'm standing across from Caesar Flickerman, his dark maroon hair and make-up looks like dried blood. It's everything I can do to keep my mind from flashing back into the arena. Because he reminds me of Aeon's dried blood I washed off in the safety of my room. But I have to stay composed, he's talking to me just a minute before the show is going to begin.

"How's your family Ms. Mason?" He asks as he arranges his mike for the sound test.

"I don't have any," I lie coolly.

He looks up at me, "Oh, I'm sorry Ms. Mason." He pats my arm consolingly. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I flash a wicked smile.

He walks out onto the stage to introduce me, when I hear him mention my name I walk out and seat myself on the chair across from him. On the board, I can see the camera is focused on me. My dress is a deep dark red that hangs to my knees, with smaller other pieces hanging down. It reminds me of dripping blood, and my lips are perfectly crimson like Aeon's blood is still on my face. To add to the illusion, the small stones of ruby on my eyelid corner looks like I'm crying blood.

"Thank you for being here today, Ms. Mason. You look amazing! Doesn't she look amazing?"

The audience claps as I give my sinister smile. I wanted to tell them they could go screw themselves, but I simply say, "Don't mention it."

His hand falls on my knee, "So Ms. Mason, what was it like in the arena?"

I'm reclined in my chair, my arms on the arm rests as I speak easily despite the effort it costs me, "I really don't think I can describe it."

"Will you try for us Ms. Mason?"

I lean forward and put my hand on his knee this time, my lashes flutter as I look up at him, "I think you'd have to be there to understand." He doesn't know what to say, so I keep going with it. "You see," I press my lips together in a crimson line as the corners twist up in a smile. "You can't imagine what it feels like to pretend to be someone else, and then turn their world upside down. You delight in how foolish they were, in how they didn't see how dangerous you were..." I let out a brilliant laugh, it's kind of evil sounding actually. "You see, it's nice to keep a little bit of yourself to yourself. Then in the end, the truth kills them when they find out who you _really_ are."

"You mean, the tributes Ms. Mason?" He raises an eyebrow, looking at me enthralled a perhaps a bit frightened.

I wave my hand dismissively, "Who else would I be talking about?" But of course, I'm talking about the Capitol, and how one day I will make them pay. I reach to the table beside me, and there's a glass of red wine. I take a sip, despite it horrible taste for affect. Because blood thirsty Johanna looks like she's really drinking blood.

I want them to fear me. I want them to shudder at my thought, I want them to think I'm the monster I struggle not to be—but maybe I am already. I wish they'd hate me, leave me alone. They've taken what is left of my humanity, can't they just leave the rest alone?

He asks me how it feels to kill, and the lie is much easier than I thought. Because in part it's true, and in part all hideous lie. "It's empowering," There's a strange emotion in my voice. "To control your life, to rip it from another's hands and dare them to take yours from you. To fight, to live despite how hard they want to kill you." I shut my eyes and breathe deeply, because despite the distaste for killing…it was easy to imagine before I knew the truth of what came after the games, that I was winning something. That I was going home, that I was going to live the rest of my life left alone as best as I could. Because the appeal of being free was so tasty, so inspiring. "The lust for the blood to spill, so it can be all over," my eyes are hard as I look out at them. "It's insatiable." The need to go home—it's stronger than death, strong because there's someone you love back home. There's something pulling you there that will allow you to do anything to get back.

"Insatiable," I repeat. But it's not the blood that you want, it's only a means to try to satiate your need for love and you can only get it if you go home.

The questions go on for another hour about how I'm so loved by the people, that this was such an amazing game, and how they'll never forget my games. Just my luck, everyone will always remember me and what I did—might as well, I won't ever forget them.

Finally, I'm able to leave and I'm so desperately happy, because the train ride is next. I can go to pieces, before I put myself together for one last time before I'm home. Then I have to stay whole and perfect for as long as they live.

…

I'm surprised when I'm heading to the car. Blight has my arm securely, and he leans close to me. "We're not going home till tomorrow Johanna."

I turn to look at him, wide-eyed and shocked. "Why?" I ask tersely.

"You know why," he says.

And I do. It means I'm wanted in someone else's bed tonight.


	32. The First Time

**_When you close your eyes, know I'll be thinkin' about you_**  
><strong><em> While my mistress she calls me to stand in her spotlight again<em>**  
><strong><em> tonight I won't be alone<em>**  
><strong><em> But you know that don't mean I'm not lonely<em>**  
><strong><em> I've got nothin' to prove for it's you that I'd die to defend<em>**

**_ I wanna lay you down in a bed of roses_**  
><strong><em> For tonight I sleep on a bed on nails<em>**  
><strong><em> Oh I wanna be just as close as the holy ghost is<em>**  
><strong><em> Lay you down<em>**

**_"Bed of Roses", Bon Jovi_**

The car pulls up in front of some huge type mansion, and I'm out with my blood dress. Blight lets go of my hand, he's held it all the way here, and he's reluctant to let go. But it slips through my fingers so easily now…

After all, his hand is the easiest thing I've let go of so far. It's easy to discard Blight, because I still don't know what I think about him. Dignity, my body, my innocence, my soul…I've given it all as an offering to the Capitol in a plea to spare what I love. But as I walk up to the door my heels clicking on the steps, I wonder if it would have just been easier if I had died in the arena.

What was after death? I couldn't pretend to know. But it had to be better than this? Even if there was nothing beyond, then at least there'd be no pain…I hadn't thought of it till now, the secrets I'll have to keep. How can I ever tell Ivan what I've done?

He deserves to know, I know that. But I don't think I can tell him. I mean, how can I? How can I tell him that our promise to be faithful didn't include this? That this wasn't cheating because it didn't matter, that I was forced to do this to save them, to save him. How could I make him suffer like I am suffering? I've lied so much these games…Would it really hurt to give one more lie? To never tell them there has been another, to not know that the reason he is allowed to live is because I'm doing what I'm told.

I think it's reason enough. But perhaps it's because I'm selfish, because I'd hate for him to know….I don't know anymore, but I can't do this with him in my head. It's Ivan I want to be doing this with, and it's Ivan I'm doing this for.

The door opens and I'm led in. The floor sparkles up at me, reflecting my dress and I'm struck by how much it actually looks like dripping blood again. When my eyes look up, I'm surprised to find a normal looking man in front of me. His hair is a garish orange, but he doesn't look altered other than that. What's more shocking is he's only a bit older than Finnick, than Ivan.

His voice is somewhat timid, "Thank you for coming. Would you like a meal?"

What's he playing at? We both know why I'm here, "No reason to."

He swallows hard, "Are you sure?"

But my fingers are already unzipping my dress, and it's falling to the floor. The truth is, I want this over with and I want that horrible blood dress off me. He inhales sharply as my cold eyes stare into his. He looks quite nervous, as I unbutton the top of his shirt. "Don't worry…my hair's not long enough to strangle anyone anymore."

My laugh echoes in the empty house, menacing and terrifying. He's touching my face gently, and then he leans close to me—soft and tentative, like it's his first kiss. His lips meet mine, and I respond mechanically.

It hits me suddenly, his scared glances, his pretenses, the soft and unpracticed kisses—I'm his first. The thought makes me sick. What kind of place is this that your first time is a time to be bought rather than a time to be treasured? How sick are they that they want that first connection for the sake of it's feeling alone rather than out of love?

His hands are touching me, and I feel the tears start in the corners of my eyes. Because, I remember my first time—Ivan's first time.

_It was pouring, the lightening lighting up the sky in sharp, quick flashes. We'd been released from our Saturday work because of the danger of the storm. We ran, but as the rain poured harder we darted into a storage shed. We had all been told to find cover as best as we could till it was over, and return to work if it ended before our shift would be over._

_As we huddled, soaking wet in the shed, he kissed me lightly. But then our eyes caught, and he leaned in closer. His lips moved against mine, and I felt the heat beginning in my body as I had often felt it before. As the thunder shook the world, and the lightening threatened to destroy everything—I didn't stop his shaking hands from un-tucking my shirt and moving beneath it._

_Our breaths came quick, and the fury of the storm was nothing compared to the passion we felt right then. I was scared, but it was so right as his hands opened the buttons and bared my milky white flesh, as my lips pressed to his chest._

_The ecstasy of the storm rolled over us as we crashed together for the first time. Our lips furtive and gentle as whispers of love echoed against the walls of that little shack. His hands wove in my long hair, as he whispered of a future with me._

_The future would be ours. And even when the storm faded, and we melted away from each other back into separate beings—we held onto that hope of a future._

…

The boy is asleep beside me, his arms wrapped around me. I feel the sting of tears in my eyes again. All I can think of is Ivan, of how this is betrayal…of the first time in that little shack. All I can think of is our love—how much I love him with everything I am. And I know that even if I keep this from him, it's okay. We are meant to be together forever. I won't let him have nightmares with me.

Others may hold me during the night in the Capitol, but it's only his arms I want. The pain, the suffering I go through here is so I can be with him back home—so we have a chance at the future we thought we had been seizing on that stormy day. The future he still thinks is real. The future that I know is a fairytale.


	33. Bury Me

**_Your faith walks on broken glass_**

**_And the hangover doesn't pass_**

**_Nothing's ever built to last_**

**_You're in ruins_**

**_21 Guns, Greenday_**

Time creeps ever on, it's like some eerie standstill of time, and I can't even count the seconds. They are so slow when I'm trying to count down to the time I will leave on my train. Finnick is there to see me ofd, and he looks me in my eyes. I know I don't have to explain to him what's in my eyes—it's a strange emptiness and a maddening frenzy to get home—to touch the things that have become almost intangible from being away so long.

He knows that feeling well. I imagine he's felt every time he's went home from years. I want to ask him, if it gets easier. If somehow...you ever really feel safe. But he holds me, and I cling to him. He is the island I have found here. He is the safe haven in a storm crazed world where I am victor—and I am leaving him. I am leaving the one who understands me best now… As he presses his lips to my cheek, I can almost hear him smile, "Don't forget to scream for me, Johanna…"

I'm being pulled on to the train, but I yell back at him, "Only in your dreams, Finnick! Only in your dreams!"

The last memory of my time in the Capitol is a good one, I will hold onto Finnick's copper hair glistening in the early morning sun while his laugh echoes all the way into the train. His sea green eyes are locked onto mine as the train takes me home.

…

I can hardly sit still. Every minute brings me closer to District 7. We will be home sometime after dark. I will see my family again, I will be in Ivan's arms. I watch out the windows with vacant eyes, because I am remembering each line of their faces. I'm remembering everything I've missed.

I remember…The way Ian tasted after a day in the woods chopping lumber. I remember the smell of the dirt after it rains. I remember the bread my grandmother baked with juice from the meat. I remember the way Greta has exactly Liam's smiles, the way the corners of her mouth crinkle up and the sound of her laughter comes from some well of contentment so deep I can never understand. The way Sven's brown eyes twinkle like Liam's—the warm tones of honey making something inside you ignite with fire. My grandmother's strong, wrinkled hands and the way it feels when she touches my face.

And they're not far away at all! I am coming home. I, Johanna Mason, am coming home! No one would have expected it. And though I am broken, there is no coffin for me. I will be home and I will put myself back together. I can endure anything now—I can be a slave for the Capitol, I can sell my body and my soul. But I a get to come _home._

_Home._

The word is so sweet, I want to shout it out. I want everyone to savor it like I do. I don't think I'd mind if they thought I was going crazy. I don't care what they think, I am alive—every piece of me, because I am loved. They're only hours away!

My heart flutters so rapidly in my chest that I don't know what I'm going to do if it keeps on going like this. It's going to leave my chest and make it's way home before my body is there.

My skin is tingling and I can't help the smile as I make my way to the dining car. There's a tinge of sadness, because I realize _my_ Avox is not there. I don't dare ask about him. I can cause him nothing but harm. But his memory will always be etched in my mind, the pale skin—the dark blue eyes, the ebony hair. The kind, soft hands that spoke to me with words his lips would never form.

But I focus back in on the table. Blight is sitting there, vacant but so is Sibyll. She's been rather put out that she didn't know my whole ordeal was an act. But I don't like her much, despite her kindness and concern or maybe because of it, so I don't care.

They both look so dejected and…squeamish? But I ignore them as my mind floats through all the things I will do when I'm home. I sit there, lost in m own world as I shovel in the food. The leather band is so loose on my fingers, but it stays on. I touch it after all this time, and think of Ivan. I have denied myself this, because I cannot have him in the Capitol with me. He is for home—for safety.

I finish off my lunch and sit with a warm cup of coffee in my hands before finally asking, "What's the matter with you two?"

Sibyll stands up, an affronted look on her face, "Don't you have a heart? You could at least be sad he's here!"

He's here? Who's he? "Wha—"

She cuts me off as she leaves the room, and before I can ask Blight why, he says quite simply. "He's on the train."

"Who's on the train?" I don't understand what on earth they're both going on about.

Blight looks incredibly old as his shaking hand covers his eyes for a moment before looking at me. "He's in his old room, Johanna." I feel a sickening jolt in my stomach. "I think…they wanted him to come back with you, so that you'd remember what there is to lose."

As I stand, the cup of coffee falls from my hand and spills, shattering into a thousand pieces on the floor. I can feel the burn as a splash scalds my legs. But I am running to his room. When my fingers yank open the knob, I understand fully.

Wren's coffin is in his room. President Snow is sending him home with me. It's a message—remember that I can still reach you in 7.

All the elation I have been feeling leaves me. I am a vacant shell as I stand in the doorway looking at the wooden coffin that holds Wren. Everything in my is screaming his name, and I can see him in the arena in pain begging me to end him. The warm gush of blood over my hands feels like it's happening again as I slam the door shut.

He's just beneath the wood, still for evermore. The one who wanted me as a friend is being used as a warning against me. I am still a piece in their game. For awhile, I stand there unable to move as my eyes are riveted to the center of the room.

It all happens as if in slow motion. I fall forward my hands at my side as my eyes focus on the grains of the coffin. I'm on my knees beside it. And I am hollow, nothing is alive in me that I can feel—not a spark or an ember.

I lean my head against his coffin and all of the memories of the games, of death…the things I wished I could forget are rushing back in on me.

_I have not cried. I cannot cry as the men of our district lift his wooden coffin off the train. But Mara throws herself at it, because there are no arms to hold her. She's wailing as she tries to clutch as his body that she can't read. My grandmother is pulling her away, silent tears streaking her own face. I watch my little siblings who don't understand what's going on but wail because everyone else is._

_It's a long walk back to our home, where his coffin is laid until the dawn. My grandmother and Mara take their turns while people come to say their condolences, but I do not. Nothing can console me. Nothing can make me feel any better about any of this. I throw off their approaches and stay to myself until I am alone with his coffin in the middle of the night when no visitors come._

_My fingers trace the wood grain and the tears start to roll down my face as I do as he has asked me to._

I'm shaking now, because it's the same request that Wren has asked me.

_Liam is walking in the door, right after school. That's not right. He's never home this early, but he's here. And it's then that I see it, he's shaking and he's covered in blood. His hands and shirt are stained with it. I run to him, "What's wrong?" _

_But my grandmother is pulling me away, but I hear the words fall from Liam's trembling lips, "Dad…an accident." _

…

_It's night and m brother has just fitted the coffin lid on when I'm allowed in. I was denied to see my father before, while Liam fixed him in the coffin and sealed the lid. But my brother is sitting up with my father for the night, a last respect for the dead. He sits there and explains it to me—about what happened._

_His voice is so young, and he's so sad sounding. The tears are rolling down my cheeks as I stifle back sobs. "He...the tree fell, he was pinned. We tried to get him out, but it was too late."_

_I sob because it's not fair, it's not fair that my dad is dead—that my little brother or sister will never know him—that I will never ever see him again._

"'_Anna," Liam holds me to him. "It's okay. We're going to be okay." I don't see how things can ever be okay again, "Listen—you have to listen now. This is important." I nod my head and watch him. "Someday I might not be here, and you have to do this in my place, okay?"_

My brain falls into the next memory—my mother's death.

_My hands are bloody as I hold my little brother as she bleeds out. She's telling Liam and I all the things we have need to know, the things we have to tell Greta when she's old enough. She tells us how she loves us, and that she wishes she could stay. And the last words that fall from her lips are—_

Another memory hits, painful and so soon after my brother's death_._

_It's been eight months since Liam has died. This should be a good day, but it's not. What should have been a good day, turns into a bad day—then a bad three days. Mara is weak and pale, but the baby—Liam's baby won't come. The nursemaid sends us out as she tries to help Mara and the baby in any way she can. But hope is waning._

_We sit for hours outside in the cold night, waiting with others. We are the only ones here for Mara, but there are others waiting for the daughter, the wife, the lover, the mother they love—waiting for news. They keep cycling out. Happy faces, and happy families going home. We wait the longest, but after some time the miller and his son are waiting with us._

_We are even. They are richer than us, they have standing but here the Miller's son's wife is in the same predicament as Mara. Money can't get help you live here, not in something like this—it is impartial._

_My fingers are freezing, as we sit out there. The light goes out in one of the rooms, and my heart tightens—we know what that means. One of them has died, Mara or the Miller's son's wife. We can't comfort each other, not when we're wishing it's the other who's love and child are dead._

_We wait for the mid-wife to come, but she doesn't. We're going mad with anxiety when there's the sound of a baby crying. We're all to our feet, waiting for the door to open._

_It seems like hours, but it opens and we rush in. The midwife is standing there with a beautiful bundled up baby, and I'm sure that the world can't be so cruel—that this has to be my Liam's baby. That somehow he lives on._

_My arms are reaching for the baby, when the mid-wife sets the baby in the Miller's Son's arms, "It's a girl. Your wife is doing fine."_

_And I see it in her eyes, when she looks at us. Mara is dead, and so is the baby._

_I demand to see them to prove it. And I do, there's the little boy, my brother's son laying in her arms as if they were sleeping. But they aren't they're dead._

_And now I realize, I'll have to do what Liam told me I would have to when he was gone._

My eyes are blood-shot and tears are streaming my face when I lift up my head. I have to do it for Wren now to. It is the custom of our people, though forbidden. It is our song, it is our way of protesting the Hunger Games. It is punishable by death to sing it, to speak of it. It is so hated by the Capitol

But it's his last wish. I've watched my brother sing it over my father's coffin, over my mother's. And I have whispered it over his grave and Mara and his child's grave, where they were buried together.

And now I will whisper it here to Wren.

My voice is weak and breaking as I recite the words that some brave soul of our district composed against the atrocities of these games—a song that he or she was said to have died for—that countless others have died for. The song that even more have died with the request of it on their lips.

It's only a whisper, but I know he hears it.

"I'll come back to you

My promise rings true

This isn't how it was meant to be

Not in a box to bury me

The day they came

Who'd believe they call my name?

A token, a lock of your hair

Something of you, to take with me there

I'll come back to you

My promise rings true

This isn't how it was meant to be

Not in a box to bury me

Eyes to the sky

Life flashing by

Scenes of "could have been"

But all dreams must end

I kept my promise true

I'll come back to you

This isn't how it was meant to be

Not in a box to bury me."

…

The train has stopped and I get up to leave him. I will stay the night with him after I greet my family. He has no one left, I am practically his family now. Or at least that's how I feel. They're bringing his coffin behind me when the door opens and there's Ivan.

I run to him and throw my arms around him. My face is in his neck, and then he kisses me lightly before he sets me down. I'm smiling weakly at him, "I've missed you so much. I love you."

But he just looks at me, and I feel sick. "Where's Grandmother? And Sven and Greta?"

And I shatter into a million pieces as I hear the words, "They're all dead."

**A/N: The poem IS written by me. In my fanfics, it will always be the banned song of District 7-kind of like "The Hanging Tree" in 12. Don't know if it's actually banned, but I always assumed so as Katniss' mother reacted very badly about it.**


	34. This Isn't Home

**Next update is Saturday hopefully! **

**Also, shameless plugging. I was mentioned as Honorable Mention on Mockingjay for my Johanna Mason Halloween costume AND for my Hanging Tree Pumpkin. ^_^**

_**I cannot love as I have loved, And yet I know not why; It is the one great woe of life To feel all feeling die.**_

_**Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton**_

The words can't go through my mind right. They don't' make sense. How can they be dead? Is this some sick joke? "What?" I say, thinking somehow I've heard him wrong.

"Johanna, they're dead." His eyes are glistening in the light reflected off the train. Tears. There are tears in his eyes. I try to find something there that tells me that it's wrong what he's telling me. But there is nothing in his eyes that brings that hope.

What have I done? What have I done that Snow is punishing me? I have done everything he has asked! This has to be a nightmare, I must have fallen asleep over Wren's coffin. This can't be happening. This can't!

"What?" I say it again. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. My world is collapsing, spinning, colliding, and shattering. I am left in ruins, still crumbling here in the midst of what should have been my victory.

"Let's go home, Johanna." He's pulling me forward.

I shake my arm loose and stand my ground. "Where are they? They can't be dead! I won! I WON!" I am shaking uncontrollably and as his hands and other hands grab a hold of me, I'm screaming and cursing them as they carry me away. It's not happening! I shout my obscenities louder and louder, until all I'm choking out is "I WON! I FREAKING WON!" But it doesn't matter. My words can't change the reality of this. They are dead. They are dead. It echoes hollowly in my soul.

I watch as the lights in homes come on, as people look away as they're carrying me screaming. They know. They know! They know…I feel myself shattering. My body goes numb and I don't fight them anymore. I can feel the tears welling up inside of me, drowning me. But I will not cry, not here in the streets. I am drowning, going under the misery and desolation of it all. They are gone, they are gone…the chorus repeats in my head as my heart batters my ribs. I can't cry here. I can't!

I won't!

I yank my arms away from them, "Let me go! I can walk." And somehow, I'm on my feet, a living corpse. Everything is cold and dead inside of me. But I try, try to make it make sense. It doesn't though. I won. I did what I was told, I slept with everyone, I agreed to anything I was asked. I sold the part of me that the Capitol valued, and still…I am being punished.

Why are they dead? The tears are blurring my vision as I stand there. "What happened?" The white hot rage is in me again, it's the rage that filled me when I stabbed the boy who tried to drown me in the Arena—Riley. It is the desperation of the arena coming down on me. What has Snow done to my family? What have I done to deserve this?

"Let's go home, Jo. I'll tell you there." He has a hold of my hand, but it doesn't feel right. I'm so empty and hollow that it feels strange. It's like I'm not me, but he's still him and I'm not supposed to be touching his hand. But it feels wrong, because I don't exist anymore. I am just a shell, a haunted and fractured shell of who I was once.

This isn't real.

…

I'm in my new house. My old home is behind me now. I'm running from room to room—up the stairs and all over till I'm sure Ivan's right. I'm screaming their names at the top of my lungs, but there is no answering voices. There are no hurried footsteps, no squeals of laughter. There is only deathly, heart-breaking silence. But I still run from room to room, each more disappointing as the last. I feel as if I can almost see a glimpse of my grandmother's hair, the fabric of Sven's shirt, the bow of Greta's…But they're not hiding, this isn't a game. They are not here. I slowly go back down the stairs and there are several men there including Blight.

They've brought Wren with them. I can see the fine woof of his coffin, I can almost hear the slow rhythm of his heart though I only heard it once.

Ivan is looking troubled, "Blight says you wanted Wren here, but I said he had to be wrong. You wanted to be alone." He's rubbing the back of his neck, unsure of what to do about me and about Blight's firmness.

I brush past him, my hand on his coffin. "No, he's my responsibility." I killed him didn't I? I was the only one he had left. I had to remember him, or else no one else would. That was my job as his partner, as a victor…as his friend, as his murderer. He alone can understand what I feel right now. He knows…he knows what I've lost, he lost it all before he was ever put in this coffin. We're the same now, except my heart beats despite myself.

"Jo—" Ivan wants to object.

I turn to him, the tears are sliding down my face. "What happened to them?" It doesn't even sound like my voice, it's so hard…so cold. It's just so painful. Then I'm on the floor sobbing hysterically. Everything that was left inside of me is breaking, every single strand that is holding me here but one is broken.

For the first time, I wish I was dead. I wish I didn't have to suffer anymore. My heart is beating so hard and so painfully that I don't see how I'm not dead already. How much longer must it feel like this before it finally bursts and I am gone? How much longer can I live in this excruciating agony? How can my body be both flames and ice? How can I be conscious but catonic and unable to move?

I feel arms comforting me. They feel right. These arms comfort me, and hold me without speaking. There are no promises, no words…just frail arms holding me. Not promising me that they can protect me, but that they are here now. And amongst my tears, I know it's not Ivan's arms—it's Blights. Because Blight knows. Blight understands. Blight was in the Arena before. He is a Victor too, long after it's stopped being a victory.

…

Every time I stop crying, I gulp in the air quickly. Because all too quickly it starts again and again. It's hours…days…aeons…lifetimes. I don't even know. I lay there and sob, then sleep, then sob, then sleep, wake up screaming, then sob then sleep. And somehow it's still dark out. Somehow I'm still alive. Somehow…I still breathe and think, and feel. It's strange that one can feel numb and feel excruciating pain.

But then, I wake up and the tears don't come. So much water is gone from my body that I just can't cry anymore and I just lay there. I realize that my head is in Ivan's lap and he's stroking my short hair. Slowly, I bring my hand up to his and I hold on to him for a long time before I speak.

The glint of the blue jeweled ring of Feora's is enthralling in this light. I just keep staring at it, wondering exactly how peaceful she felt now feeling nothing. How does Feora feel wherever she's at? She's home now, at least her body is. Her family is safe. Safe… But finally, I force the words from my mouth. "How?" I croak it out weakly.

Ivan doesn't speak at first, but I wait. His words come slowly. "Your grandmother got very sick after you left. She was too weak to fight it off. I was there when…she died." The words echo harshly against my ears. "She was so worried for you. She said, you'd make it home and to forgive her for not being there when you did."

"I tried to take them home with me. But it's not allowed. Greta and Sven went to the Community Center. I visited them every day, I begged that they could stay with me. I don't know why they should have cared, why that it mattered to them. I mean, they have plenty of kids—you'd think they'd want people to take some in. But no. They have to stay." His voice is cold and hard.

"The last day in the arena…" I can feel my heart almost stop. I remember that last day, the intense feeling that something was happening. Something was wrong, that's what I thought. And now, now I'm right…the feeling I tried to brush away in the arena was warning me of this. Trying to tell me that there was a choice, to just let Aeon finish me. That maybe I should let him win—so that I won. I could have thrown the game in the Capitol's face, but I kept hoping they were still alive….And I was wrong.

His words come again over me, "We were...at the river that day. It was supposed to be a logging day. But the winter snow melt had strained the dam. We were trying to repair it…to stop it from happening. But we couldn't. The logs kept pounding against it, the dam creaked and groaned until…it burst. We didn't know…not till later that the younger kids in the Community Center were all playing downstream…" His voice breaks, and despite my misery all I can do is listen. I can't comfort him when I can't even comfort myself.

"When we made it down there, there was no chance. Half of the kids had been washed washed away…That's when I found out it was—," his voice chokes again and the tears I thought were dried up begin to fall again. "We found most of the bodies that night and the next day. I'm sorry…we couldn't wait. We…buried them the next day."

My voice is hoarse through the tears, "Did you…"

"All night, I stayed with them all night," he's stroking my hair. He had kept to the tradition of our people except in time's of great crisis to sit up with the dead before they were gone forever more. "I sang to them." He pauses, he sang them the song. The song that was originally for the Games. But so many had died because of the Capitol's lack of caring. Starvation…sickness…these things they Capitol could help with their food and medicine. So they died because the Capitol did not care. So we sang to them the song of the Games, the song of a life gone too soon."I'm sorry…I was supposed to take care of them. I was supposed—"

I stop him by sitting up. "It's not…you." Inhaling sharply, I meet his eyes. "Was it really an accident?" Snow had to have done it. He had to have…

"Yes," he's stroking my hair."It was _really_ an accident."

"Oh…" So I sit there, hollow eyed while he tries to comfort me. Snow has taken everything from me. He may not have killed them himself, and…if it's really an accident like Ivan thinks…does it really matter? Because Snow was the reason I was gone, the reason I was in the arena. Whatever happened while I was gone, was and is his fault. He has threatened to take away what I love, and he has done it without even uttering a word. Surely in the Capitol there was something that might have saved my grandmother, but even if not—if there were no games, Sven and Greta would be with me. We would be whole…I wouldn't be having to remember their faces, imprinting them in my mind so they can never fade.

But Sven doesn't' know of Snow's threat. He doesn't know because I can't tell him. He doesn't know the main reason I believe it to be real. Would he feel any different if he knew what I knew? But I can't tell him, I can't lose him too.

I get up and walk across the room, wandering until I find the kitchen. Ivan is following behind me, but not speaking. I rifle through the drawers until I find a knife. In the dim light of my new house, it glints at me and I can see Ivan standing there, afraid for me.

But I don't have to speak, another voice comes across the room. "Let her be, Ivan." I look across the room and see Blight. I pass him in the hall as I make my way into the study where Wren's coffin is and slam the door and lock it. I hear Ivan arguing with Blight, but eventually as I'm standing there the voices fall silent. Or maybe…I just don't' hear anymore.

All that fills me is rage. Because I was supposed to have won, I was supposed to be safe! This wasn't supposed to have happened. I was supposed to be happy, I was supposed to come home to them. And now, I realize as Snow had made me that promise, he knew what I had already lost—and he knew that I would blame him. He knew that the last thing I had left, I'd hold onto tighter.

But maybe, he'll take that anyway. Maybe Ivan was just on borrowed time until I slight Snow in some way I'm not even sure of. But it doesn't matter does it? Because I want him for as long as I can have him. It doesn't matter that Ivan doesn't believe it was on purpose, maybe it wasn't…but it can't be can it? But why? Why?

I'm filled with rage as I attack the lid of the coffin. I use my skills to carve the words. Maybe Snow will kill me for it. I don't know. Right now, I'm so empty so dead that I wish he would—that he'd kill me as an example. Then I wouldn't have to hurt anymore.

My tears mix with the sawdust as I blow the slivers of wood off the top. Roughly, but lovingly etched on the lid:

"_This isn't how it was meant to be_

_Not in a box to bury me."_

I sit there for hours, waiting for the peacekeepers to take me away. But no one comes to end me, to punish me. Because, why would they want to put me out of this misery?


	35. Is This What They Call Living?

**Enjoy! Next update (depending on if I catch up with my NaNo will be Wed or Sat. Sat is a guaranteed update. Wednesday is a hopeful update XD.)**

_**To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless-it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable."**_

_**C. S. Lewis**_

The ache doesn't diminish, the emptiness, if anything seems to increase and swallow me whole. I have watched Wren be laid to rest. I think, I am the only one who cried over his death—really truly cried. I think, I'll be his only visitor, and he…my first friend. Maybe he'll be my only friend.

I visit Liam's grave and I kneel there for a very long time. I don't know why, but somehow it comforts me just as if he's holding me and reading me stories again. Somehow, death hasn't taken away his comfort or even Wren's.

It is the others who haunt me. It is Mara's voice asking me in desperation to cut her open, save the baby—it would kill her. But she didn't care. And I, I was too weak—too afraid to do what she asked. She has joined the cast of my nightmares, holding my nephew asking "Why is he not with you? Why didn't you save him?" And I can't answer her.

My grandmother calls for me in the middle of the night, but I cannot find her though I can hear her voice still. She's just beyond my reach all the time, every time I find where she must be—I awake sweating. I am denied her over and over again.

I only visited Sven and Greta's tiny graves once. I couldn't bear to go back. I saw their faces every night in my nightmares. Griffin is standing there, the rope of my hair pulled tight around his neck as I step off the train. Sven and Greta are in his arms, shivering and wet as he drags them back with him. Their lips are blue, I'm screaming for them, for him to let them go…but he can't. Feora is bleeding out beside me, "It's the game!" she's screaming it while choking on her own blood. Riley is standing there to the side, his eyes cold and condemning. And Aeon, Aeon still has his head, but he's pulling Griffin back by a long, thick chain—forcing him to drag Sven and Greta with him. The other tributes are there too…in all their bloody and decaying glory. They all look at me with cold, dead eyes that condemn me. We died for you to live. You have killed us all. But Wren is not there, he has never and will never condemn me.

I wake up screaming. The dream plays in my mind every night without variation. Soon, Ivan leaps from the chair in my room and runs to me. "Johanna, I'm here! I'm here Johanna!" I can see the fear in his eyes, he cannot understand fully what I see, or what I feel. I know he thinks he understands, but his understanding is limited. He does not know. He has not experienced what I have experienced, and I'm glad that it's me and not him. I'm glad he doesn't have to live with the things I do.

Tentatively, he crawls into bed with me—he's been sleeping in the chair in my room for the past two weeks. I know he doesn't understand why I don't just let him hold me, or fall into his arms. He doesn't understand why when I kiss him, I go to pieces no matter how much I want him. He doesn't know what I'm not telling him, what I can never tell him. There are some things that must stay in the Capitol if he's to stay safe. He is all I have left.

He doesn't question it though, he holds me when I allow him. He kisses me when he can, but we both know things are different now. But as he crawls into bed beside me, I can feel the warmth radiating off of him—and for the first time since the games his arms feel natural to me, like home.

Long into the night, he comforts me until I am mostly put together again. As he prepares to go back to his chair, I feel my fingers grabbing on to his bare wrist. "Don't go," I feel like a child, begging my mother not to leave me alone in the dark. Because she, like him could ward away the monsters or at least comfort me after they've gone.

So for the first time since the games, he holds me all night long.

…

When I wake up, I'm confused. For a moment, I'm Johanna Mason and I'm fifteen and happy in the arms of the one I love. But then everything comes back to me, I'm still Johanna Mason…and these are still the arms I love. But nothing else is the same. It's been a year since that girl. But most importantly, there's been a game since that girl.

The dappled sunshine flooding into my room is not the same sunshine that woke me where I used to live. This bed is mine, and his, and it's a real mattress not made out of straw. And we can share it, with no questions. I am a Victor, no one will dare question my choices.

I lay there for a long time while he sleeps. I'm drinking every line on his face in—committing it to memory. It is still the same face I love, it has not changed. I wonder how much my face has changed from the girl he loved?

I ease out of his arms and into the bathroom, and I stand in front of the mirror. My hair is much, much shorter. The eyes that seemed to glint with mischief, seem colder and harder. These eyes are ages old, a thousand lifetimes since that other girl. There's a faint trace of the scar that Aeon gave me still present beside my ear. The lips that once twisted into a bright smile at the sight of what I love, is turned down at the corners. Have these lips ever smiled?

But I know they have, I know this is not who I want to be. I throw my hand into the glass and watch it shatter. As the pieces shatter and cascade with my blood into the sink, I hold on as best as I can. I grip the side of the sink, and breathe in deeply.

Ivan is running, and appears behind me. The confusion is clear on his face before I look down. I can't look him in the eye right now…I just can't. But he doesn't say a word, he just sighs and helps me clean off my bloody hand before sending me out of the room while he cleans up.

The sound of glass hitting the bottom of the trash can rattles around in my brain. It's like the fractured pieces of my life, but no one will give me the dignity of being thrown away. I just exist. I feel so numb, but at the same time I don't. There's a part of me that feels the most alive since I've come home. I can't explain it.

…

The days pass very slowly. I walk through the streets and people give me looks of pity. I hate them. Some dare to speak to me, but I ignore them. I cannot know them. I cannot endanger them now. The worse thing is that now in my loneliness, or maybe because I can't—I _want_ to know them. But each person I get to know would slowly work their way into my heart. It would be more people in danger of dying, more people for Snow to torment me with.

So I live in exile.

I cast off their advances. I hope they'll stop trying to comfort me, but they don't. They somehow think that maybe time will heal me. That one day, I'll wake up and be okay—that somehow things can be good again. But they were never good. I don't know what world they are living in, but my world was never a good place. There were good moments between tragedies and that was all.

Why can't they just hate me? It'd be easier for us all.

…

Despite my dislike of him, of the warring emotions in my body, I am drawn to Blight. We don't talk or do anything. I just walk over to his house, open the door and do whatever I want. I eat his food, come unannounced, yell at him…but he never criticizes me. He accepts all the abuse I can dish at him. He just nods his head, and accepts anything I say to him.

Sometimes, I want to scratch that calm expression off his face.

But he never comes to my house unannounced. He's always polite and asking, even if I'm rude which I always am. Sometimes I almost believe him, other times I want to kill him still. It's Thursday, and I've been home for six weeks when I walk into his house unannounced again. I head straight to the kitchen to get some of his maple syrup, and he's sitting there seemingly waiting for me.

The sight of him freezes me. "What are you doing here?" I ask gruffly, like it's my house and he's intruding instead of me. He's never interfered with me before.

He pours a cup of coffee, and pushes it across the table. The sweet temptation of it drifts up to me as I notice there's a large stack of pancakes with syrup all over them. "Johannna," his voice is even. "Won't you please sit down?"

It's a trap. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and I'm turning on my heel to leave when his next words fall on my ears.

"Don't you want to know how I knew your father?"

I stop abruptly. My desire to know is overwhelming, but I don't know if I can force myself to do what he wants. I still don't know what to think about him. But the allure of the food is making my mouth water and the promise of finally knowing what he's been tantalizing me with is too much.

Reluctantly, I sit down and begin to eat.

For a few minutes, he doesn't say anything at all. He just drinks his coffee, and when I've almost had enough of the silence he begins to talk. "Your father and I worked in the forest together. He didn't even know your mother yet. We were fourteen, both working to support our families. We were the best of friends. We helped each other, we were like family."

He takes a brief moment, his eyes are far away looking as he reminisces, "Your father met your mother," he paused sighing. "She was beautiful. Dark red hair, vibrant green eyes—so spirited, the privileged daughter of a victor. Your father was smitten with her, just like everyone else. But for some reason, he said she chose him. He never understood how he was so lucky. He never understood that she loved him because he was so good, so kind almost to a fault. They were seventeen when they got married."

He fills his cup up again, adds sugar and stirs. I look at him captivated. My parents never had talked of a time before us, never. It was as if the subject were taboo. I see the hard lines etched in Blight's face, the lines of sadness that are so firmly ingrained that they never leave. "Your father was so excited, when they told me they were expecting Liam. No one but your grandparents and I knew. It was such a blessing until the following week when they reaped his name for the games."

"They what?" The food falls out of my gawking mouth. "But…he won?" It's thrown my mind into complete tumult. My father would have surely mentioned he'd been in the games—someone would have mentioned it! But he had to have played and won though, he was there. I was born—I mean, people don't volunteer in District 7.

Blight shook his head, "No. When they called his name, I volunteered."

I look at him in shock. Blight, Blight…was that his first name or last name or a nickname? I shake my head, Blight had volunteered for my father. "Why?" I croak it out in shock.

Blight looks at me oddly, "Because he was my best friend, like my brother. The only person I had anymore. He had a real family, he was going to get to be happy. So what if I died so that he'd be safe? So that he got a chance to be a father? I never intended to come back alive, but somehow…I did."

It doesn't make sense. Blight had decided to die for my father. Knowing that he wouldn't win, he had walked into the game proudly and accepted his death. And some how, some way…he had survived. Begrudgingly, I realize I owe him my respect and my life. Had my father gone…maybe I wouldn't have ever been born. But its' too much for me to try to understand right now, it's too much for me to try to figure out anymore.

For a long time, I sit there and process it. But then it makes no sense. If this is true, then why didn't I know? Why wasn't Blight around? But then I realize with a sickening feeling that my father, that Liam…myself, all of us were the leverage the Capitol had against him.

"So…" I say it sadly, "We're both free then?"

"No," he says it pointedly and I look up at him shocked. My father, the rest of my family that he's been protecting, that he's been avoiding to keep them safe are dead. What could there possibly be left? "You've got someone still. You've got Ivan." He places his cup down, laying his hand on the table.

I reach out to him, showing him the only genuine warmness I've ever given him. "And you've still got me."


	36. Breathless

**_I have died everyday_****_  
>waiting for you<br>Darling, don't be afraid  
>I have loved you for a<br>Thousand years  
>I'll love you for a<br>Thousand more_**

**_Time stands still_****_  
>Beauty in all she is<br>I will be brave  
>I will not let anything<br>Take away  
>What's standing in front of me<br>Every breath,  
>Every hour has come to this<em>**

**_A Thousand Years, Christina Perri_**

Things change. I hated Blight once. I pitied Blight once. But now, I just understand him. We are alike now. I still pick on him, I'm still rough and brash with him; but there's no venom underneath it—or at least not like it was.

Our days continue, and more and more Blight's words weigh on my mind. I still have Ivan. I still have him. He's still mine! My heart rejoices at the thought of it, and my heart hasn't ever been one to rejoice much. We don't rejoice in District 7.

So I move like a phantom through my life. And in remarkably short time, the human part of me begins to exist again. I have lost so much, but Ivan is here with me still. I don't' know how long it will last—how long I will be allowed to be happy with him…to love him in my limited way, in the limited way a Victor can. I love him with every fiber of my being, that hasn't changed. What has changed is that my being isn't as much anymore, I'm less but my love for him is not.

My body comes alive. Food feels like it's more than just sustenance that I don't really want to eat. I can taste things again. It's no longer a betrayal for my stomach to growl at the smell of it. I can feel cold again, I mean it actually registers—not that it's cold. It's unbearably hot right now.

And then I start feeling the thing I've missed so much. It's deep ache in the pit of my being. It comes on so suddenly and is gone so quickly that at first I don't think it's real. Things can't be normal can they?

But more and more, I feel it. He comes home and as he gives me a quick kiss hello the fire burns under my skin. The tingling spreads from where his lips touch me to the tips of my fingers and toes. Somehow, somehow…I am alive again. This is a feeling I know well. It is something I have always associated with just Ivan. It is an urge as old as the earth. It is the hot flames of desire spreading out of my body because I want him.

The realization is so sudden that it leaves me breathless. I had thought that I would never…feel the urge to be with him again after what I've done. I try to fight it. I tell myself I'm not ready—I don't deserve to be happy. But all my excuses fall hollow on my tongue.

I have been home for eight weeks. Ivan has been holding me again in bed for only the past two weeks, but it feels so natural now. I feel that stirring for more, but I'm too afraid to act on it and I know he won't because he doesn't want to push me.

It's the hottest day of the year as I walk around the district. People try to talk to me, but I don't respond. I overpay for stuff and ignore them when they try to be honest and tell me. I think maybe they understand that I'm protecting them, or maybe they just don't care that I'm shutting them out. They have never loved me like they loved my grandmother, Mara, Sven, Greta, or Liam.

I find my typical spot in the woods. It's late Saturday evening and everyone is done working. I sit there beneath the tree eating my over-priced loaf of bread and cookies. I've discovered that I have a particular fondness for cookies and barely a day goes by without me buying at least one now, though usually I buy much more than that.

The dappled sunshine sifts through the trees as I sit there. It's pleasant to not have to think about anything in particular and be bothered by no one. There are no memories of this particular spot for me, it's new since I've been home. It has now become a place of solace.

A crack of thunder echoes across the space, and I grab up my bag of treats and take to running. It's a thing you learn in District 7, at the first warning sign run or you'll get soaked. As I dart in and out of the trees on the way back to my new house, I can't help but have flashbacks of the heavily wooded arena. The adrenaline is surging in me and I almost want to feel the axe in my hand again. It would bring me the control I missed. My body is sweating, and I'm running faster. I'm not in the arena. I'm not in the arena. I have to keep reminding myself. Aeon is not coming for me. I am okay.

As I break through the trees into the already empty streets, the rain starts to pour down on me. It's blinding, I can hardly see two feet in front me running. It feels good to run, to stretch my muscles again since the games. I slow down at my door and fumble with the knob to get in. I'm standing there, dripping wet when Ivan steps into the hall.

He smiles warmly at me, and I feel that hot, aching, burning monster in me again. This is not the arena. I don't have to remind myself of it. This feeling had no place there, it only has a place with him.

Before I can think, before I can talk myself out of, I am crashing into him. My wet body is melding into his and my feverish lips are impatient. My clothes are thin, but even that material is too much between us. My fingers are fumbling at his shirt as his hand moves up my back beneath my shirt. I arch to him with a loud moan. He responds by pulling me harder to him, his breath hot against my face.

I can't undo the buttons. It's infuriating me, teasing me when I've realized now that I want him no matter what might happen later. Because I love him, and that will not change. I push away from him, but he's trying to pull me back. Quickly, I rip his shirt open. The buttons pop off, ricocheting and fall to the ground as I watch his chest heave in an effort to breathe.

"Are you sure?" Want is clearly on his face, his dark brown eyes look into mine. Those eyes say how much he loves me, how much he wants me, how much I can't live without him…

His hand is gentle on my face as I lean into him. I'm shaking, "Shut up." I say it brusquely, because I don't trust my voice to say anything else. I pull myself back to him, gripping the sides of his open shirt as my legs wind their way around his waist.

When we touch it's like fire. Ever part of my body burns in pure ecstasy. His hands are tugging at the hem of my shirt. I pull my face away from his and raise my arms as he slides my shirt over my head with one swift motion. He buries his face in my heaving breasts as I wrap my arms back around his neck. My head is thrown back as my eyes roll in the pleasure of his lips.

But that doesn't last long enough. I unwind my legs and jump off of him. My fingers are unbuttoning my pants and then I'm out of them in no time. He's reaching for me, but I'm laughing and running up the stairs to our room. I can hear his laughter behind me he's flying up behind me.

Ivan catches me in the doorway, and throws me down on the bed—his body a tantalizing inch above my chest and face. But we are touching in other areas….My fingers slide down his chest as his brown eyes stare into mine unblinking. I run the tip of my finger under the waist band of his pants as he groans in pleasure. Slowly, I unzip his pants as he's looking into my eyes. Then with impatience he pulls them off, and as my back arches up to him my bra is undone. As one, we slide off the reminder of the other's clothes.

He moves against me gently like this is our first time again. He's slow and maddening. His lips run down my collarbone…to my stomach…back to my breasts. I try to take over—to try to kiss down his body like he is mine but he stops me. He brushes back the short strands of hair, "No…" He says it gently but firmly. "I want to show you how I've missed you. How bad I've wanted you. I want to let you feel everything I've had to hold inside of me since you left—I want you feel how much I've wanted you back all this time. Just let me, do this for you."

Those clear eyes look into mine, the dark brown eyes that compliment the dark brown hair. I run my fingers over his hard muscles as I nod my head. I've controlled everything about us for so long—if I would live or die, if he could touch me or kiss me. Tonight, he wants control. He wants to show me how much he's missed me, how much he loves me.

His lips move down my skin, leaving hot and tingling trails behind them.

Pleasure can feel like hours and minutes, eternity and only a brief second. You can want it to end because you're thirsty or hungry and you can want it to never end because a different kind of thirst—a different kind of thirst feels like it will never ever be satisfied. He pleasures me until I don't think I can take it anymore. All memories of anything that happened to me in Capitol or in the Games has faded away. The only thing that exists is us and now.

Our bodies meld into one. Our motions are fluid, are feelings are the same—connected. We don't' feel separately or act separately. We are simply one. And each time we finish, we start again. Because the need is so much more than we have ever felt. It's more important than anything so paltry as food or water. But there comes a time that we have to be satiated no matter how much we want to go on.

And so like all good things, it has to end. But the good doesn't, as I curl up next to him. I am safe. I am happy. I am in love. I am with Ivan. For the first time in a long time, everything is okay.


	37. Moments of Hope

**Check out my one shot _The Hunter's Mind_!**

**Also, I've been chosen for an amazing opportunity. A Hunger Games fanfiction from 24 perspectives-24 Authors, 24 Tributes, 24th Hunger Games. I'll be representing District 7 Male-Aspen Chekhov. Stay tuned for more details soon! The life of my tribute MAY depend on YOU!**

**_Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted... unbidden... it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us... passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we'd know some kind of peace... but we would be hollow... Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we'd be truly dead._**  
><strong><em> Joss Whedon quotes <em>**

I am happy.

Every morning, I wake up in Ivan's arms awoken by his hot breath. I can't get enough of him, I can't drink him in enough. There is not enough of Ivan for me at all because I love him so completely. For the first time ever, things are okay. Is this what it feels like to have a normal life?

Maybe it is. But I try not to dwell on it too much, because I'm too busy being happy. Our relationship has changed—well really all my relationships have changed. I'm not hate or despised in town, people don't talk to me, seek me out or worship me—they just know that I'm the victor. I have some sort of power that even they didn't realize I had. It doesn't hurt that they know I have a weakness for trinkets—or well a supposed weakness. I try to buy them from talented but poor families, because it's my duty as a Victor. It's what Blight should have been doing all these years. Never mind the fact that I would never have done this if I wasn't so perfectly happy with Ivan though I do my best to show I'm not mushy at all.

I walk home from the bakery, and drop a bag of coins after I see a little boy looking dejected and skin and bones. He'll pick it up as soon as I leave, I mean it's fair game if I drop it like that. But I haven't walked a dozen more steps when I feel him tugging on my hand. "Ms. Mason?"

I glare back at him, "What?"

"You dropped this?" He holds the bag out to me.

Stupid little kid. It's all well to do that, I mean it's even polite. But we don't have time to be polite like that here. "Get your filthy hands off me kid, that's not mine." I pull away.

"No, I saw you drop it," he insists.

I turn back and glare at him, "I told you it's not mine. If you know what's good for you, you'll scram!" I swing my arms and the kid is running off toward what I assume is his home.

I shake my head, what is District 7 coming to if that boy won't just take it and go?

…

Blight and I aren't friends exactly. I don't know what you would call us. But he comes over everyday while Ivan is gone to work. We don't normally talk, but he cooks for me which is great because I can't really cook anything good. My waffles are absolute failure, eggs turn into mushy, blanked ill tasting food—but in my defense, I never had any of these before I was a Victor. Give me a side of beef, some bread—I can make something that's hearty and tasteful enough so that you don't even realize it's not a full meal. I'm an expert at making that kind of food. But this rich faire is different.

Blight takes me around to the other Victor's houses. There are four of them—all male. They're ancient, and by ancient I mean—they're almost as old as the rebellion. I learn their names, not that I really care to. Haemon Svet, Igor Kaine, Adam Idel, and Nicholas Isoph. Unprecedented they had won back to back games—17, 18, 19, and 20th. There wouldn't be another victor till Blight's game—the 44th. I hear about the first girl victor, a girl that Blight mentored the year after his games—Katerina. But they don't speak of her at all, except in passing. They tell me about what an honor it was to have my grandfather as a mentor. It was twelve years before he brought any home—and then he brought home four in a row.

It makes me proud to be his granddaughter. They talk about how hopeful they are that I'll bring back his streak like they've failed to do. And I really hope they're right. I don't know how they did it as long as they did. They're twisted and frail—much sooner than they should have been. As far as I can remember, they've always looked this old. They have tired eyes, tired voices. But they are the only ones who understand me completely except for Blight. They know what I've been through. One look tells me that they've been through it to.

So we visit them everyday, and Blight teaches me how to cook—and cook for them. Because they don't like to associate with the rest of the town. They feel it's too harmful, they'd rather be amongst Victors. It's easier that way.

…

Ivan and I are talking about marriage, not as some distant unattainable thing like before. He's talking about soon. Sometime next year, and I can feel the butterflies in my stomach as he I realize that I'll have him forever. That his promise will finally come true. I'm terrified and thrilled at the same time. He'll be mine forever, and ever. I'll wear his ring. We'll share our home—and everyone will know I am his and he is mine. I feel so foolish and girly—something I've never been before. But I'm so happy, for now.

I'm not sure why when I'm so happy that my hands always wander to the box while he's a way. It's a small wooden box, something my grandfather got as a gift ages ago from his grandfather. It's survived the Rebellion. It's made of cedar and the design is carved like the top is a forest of trees. My fingers rove over it and feel the glossiness of it. How expert my great-great grandfather's hands must have been to have carved this and made it last. It has survived a war, and probably it could survive another.

In it, there are a few items that I treasure. Treasure isn't…exactly the right word. My hands glide over the items—a photograph of my family before my grandfather died, there's Liam and I so young back then. There's no pictures of my little siblings, there's only this one faded photo that I have. A letter from Sven. A ribbon from Greta's hair. A ball of Sven's. My grandmother's thread box. My mother and father's rings. My grandfather's token—a small wooden bird that I've come to realize is a phoenix. Not mine like I thought, but his too.

Then there are the other things. Precious to me in some sick way. There is Griffin's small coin, there's Riley's bloody ribbon, there the small wooden bird and, the small black stone, and the coin with a face of a victor….the tributes I took something from. I look down at my hand, the stitch marks still noticeable on the side as I focus on Feora's ring. She was a smart girl, some type of honor this ring was—she could have been someone if they games had not taken her away.

But they games had destroyed her, destroyed me, destroyed everything. My fingers slide over the artifacts and I know that it wont' be long before I'm on my tour. "Victory" tour, Ha! What a stupid name. This isn't victory…But I can give their family's back the items I've taken from their children. I can let them have at least a piece of what's been taken from them. It's not the same, but it's something at least. More than what I got back with my brother's body.

So I close the lid of the box and slide it back under my edge of the bed, before I go back downstairs. I'm still lost in thoughts of what to do now when I hear it. A shudder runs up my spine as the phone rings again and again.

I can feel my mouth go dry, and Blight has just come in when my hand picks up the phone. I stare at the blue ring of Feora's that I never take off. How much easier it could have been if she had slit my throat instead of me slitting hers? It's amazing how things can go down hill so quickly. A few minutes ago, I was happy and in love. And now…

Something in me dies. I feel sick, and I have to grip the edge of the table. It's the call I've been dreading. I'm going back to the Capitol.

I knew I couldn't be happy for long.


	38. In the Night

**BTW! The 24 Authors, 24 Tributes, 24th Hunger Games is UP AND RUNNING! Please check it out, you'll LOVE IT. Stay tuned for me coming up soon in Chapter 7.**

**So please check out Tears of Blood! Link is also on my profile.**

** s/7608756/1/Tears_of_Blood**

**_Cause you know it's just a one night stand_**

**_And I said_**  
><strong><em>Don't leave your number, no I'm not callin<em>**  
><strong><em>Sex's not love and no I'm not fallin<em>**

**_One Night Stand by Hinder_**

Ivan doesn't understand when I explain to him that I have to go to the Capitol. He doesn't want me to leave. Finally, I've had enough of his sadness—it's making it harder to go, and I've only got two days until then. I snap at him, "Look, I don't want to go either! But it's what happens when you're a Victor." I'm too close to the truth for comfort so I storm off to my room and slam the door.

For the first time since I've been home, I sleep alone in my house in Victor's Village. He doesn't come home.

I lay there for a long time staring at the ceiling. This loneliness is worse than the arena. But I'm proud, and I don't go looking for him. I keep telling myself that he's going to come home any minute, but he doesn't. He is gone…gone.

Then they come. I thought I'd escaped them. I'm looking into Riley's eyes as his hands are wrapped around my neck. He's screaming at me, telling me how I deserve to suffer for killing him. As much as I want to fight him, I realize when I try to grab his hands—that I have none. No hands—only bloody stubs.

Then Aeon is whispering in my ear, "How do you like that? How does it feel?" His voice is slick, filled with sadistic glee. I wake up screaming as his laughter dies away.

My whole body is drenched in sweat, and I'm scrambling around trying to find my axe when I realize I'm home. I'm home. Home…alone.

I scramble out of bed and down the stairs and I sit. I can't go back up there, it doesn't feel right. It's as if Aeon can reach me there. I refuse to go back to sleep, a hundred phantasms coming at me in the night. A shadow here—the sound of laughter from somewhere. I think…I'm losing my mind when the door opens.

I run toward the hall, ready to fling myself in Ivan's arms. But it's not Ivan, it's Blight, "Oh," I say.

"What's the matter?" He asks with some concern, glancing around. "Where's Ivan?"

I shrug my shoulders and head back to the couch.

He doesn't ask me anything, he just busies himself in the kitchen until the sweet smell of food tantalizes me enough to walk in there. There's my cup of coffee, and a stack of pancakes smothered in syrup with bacon. He is a comfort to me. He just sits there and drinks his coffee, "Aren't you going to eat?" I ask between bites. He always eats with me.

"No," he just smiles. But I honor our unspoken agreement and don't ask.

…

I pack up my little box first. I think about smuggling an axe or two to the Capitol before deciding that I'd rather not lose a good axe to them. So I content myself with packing my favorite red dress and some other things I might want.

Ivan still hasn't come home.

The sun is setting, and I'm on the verge of going over to Blight's so I don't have to be alone again when the door opens. "Blight," I say as I finish off a heavy beef stew. "I'm coming over toni—"

It's Ivan, and I stand up quickly but stop myself from running to him. He takes off his coat, and throws it down on the coffee table. "I—"

"I thought you weren't coming back," my voice is cold and harsh. It's not what I meant though, I'm hurt. I missed him so desperately, but I can't make myself fix it because he left me. He should have wanted to stay with me every minute before I went.

"Well, I'm here aren't I?" He walks over to me and wraps his arms around me and I melt into him. Before long, I'm sobbing asking him to never leave me again. Because, I can't stay mad—I love him.

…

The sun rises and I get dressed reluctantly. Before I know it, I'm kissing Ivan goodbye and waving to Blight as the train speeds out of the station. In a few hours time, I'm in the Capitol. I've got on a black dress when a younger woman, Desota picks me up. She's very snarky—her black hair pulled back so tightly that her face seems stretched.

She leads me to what she explains will be my apartment in the Capitol. It's completely stocked with foods, even an Avox girl to help out, and a closet full of clothes. I think about dismissing the Avox, but decide I'll just not use her so she can have a bit of respite.

The days inch by. Each morning I make it back to my apartment by dawn. I'm sore and in disarray. Sometimes, I'm even close to drunk. Somehow, I'm making it though because he's home. Ivan is home waiting for me.

…

After a week and a half, I find it's easier to let it go. I still hate it, but it's easier to disregard them. It's the only way, I'm going to make it through. So the first night that I actually stay over with one of them, I make myself at home. When he wakes up, he finds me downstairs in the kitchen cooking in nothing but an apron. Apparently, it's the kind of thing they like. Brassy, Winning Johanna Mason. So I seethe out angry remarks, I stomp around and more and more I enjoy just being naked.

At this point, who hasn't seen me naked?

I know I should feel ashamed, but I'm not. It's so easy to be bitter and callous in front of the people. It's what they want—brash Johanna. It's nice to give them my venom and not get in trouble for it. Oh, how they love me for it, sick freaks.

Verity rescues me and demands to have me all to herself for three days. There's no more visits, but there's a lot of primping and trying on clothes. Lots of discussing things. We get along alright. Even though I wish this was some premise just so I could rest, it's not. I am poked and prodded, I'm standing for hours with a dress. I loathe it, but it's better than the alternative. I just have to keep it from my mind that these dresses she's creating, no matter how beautiful are dresses for my "Victory" tour. The loveliness of them diminishes each time as I remember.

All of this goes on in the training center, so I get to go back to my old room. I walk into the dining room and I look all around, remembering our meals there. My fingers glide over the fine grain wood where Wren sat. Wren…

I rove the area. There's the mirror they had to replace when I broke it. A thousand things bring jolting memories back to me, some pleasant and some not so pleasant. On the roof where I swore I'd win. And finally, I make my way into his room—somewhere I've never been before.

I hesistate at his room. It's like a sanctuary to me, I don't want to go in but I know that the next time I'm back here it'll be defiled with another tribute. I take a deep breathe and I step inside. It's completely devoid of any personal touches. But somehow, I can feel his presence. This is where Wren lived out a few days of his life in comfort. I can't explain it, but there's a peaceful aura in here. It's like the same calmness with which he lived has survived after he died. It makes me question what I will leave behind. Just a lot of hate. I don't' think there's much else left except for Ivan. I love him as much as a Victor can.

Night after night, I go to party after party. I say brash things, listen to their stories. For a moment my heart catches, and I see someone. I run over to him, pulling up my dress to run faster. Only to find when he turns around that it's not him—it's not Finnick.

I haven't called him yet. I didn't want to share in my misery when he's so close to being free. Maybe he's free already—I have to call him when I get home, I need to. He can help me get through this. I'm not so selfish as to wish he was here, because I know what that would mean for him.

I can't even really keep track of the faces or the names. It's all so disjointed. This trip has just jumbled together so much that I can barely put it in order, barely process it. They…they whisper sweet nothings in my ear, some of them. Some of them want me quickly and want me to leave just as quickly—I like them best. After all, this isn't about my pleasure, because none of this is pleasure. I'm just here to satiate them until I can get home to Ivan and live my life.

The days creep by, I'm amazed at how slow time can crawl. The nightmares come every night, and the Avox girl strokes my head when I wake up screaming. I keep imagining that she's him with his kind smooth hands, with his warm brown eyes…with his reassurance of "good luck"—someone who believes in me. But she's not, I can pretend for a moment or two, but it's not the same. She seems terrified of me, and possibly even envious. But what of me is there to envy?

When I need them most, Wren and Feora come to me in the night. They keep watch and Aeon won't come near me nor Griffin. I don't know how they can protect me or why they would want to when I never could protect them. But they come, and they comfort me and help me make it through. Aeon doesn't visit my dreams for now. And one night, I'm given a gift—Liam has come to me in one of his rare occurrences.

It's just memories with slight changes. His rough voice rings out as he lulls me to sleep, he shows me how to treat a burn. He kisses the top of my head before he heads off to the games...He's my Liam, exactly how I remember him.

…

Finally, it's over. I'm going home. I can barely contain myself through the night of waiting. Everything is shoved in my bag and I'm waiting on the couch to go when they arrive to take me. The train feels too slow. But then I feel sick. The last time I came home…the last time…I came home to death.


	39. Shattered

**Thanks for those of you who are tuning into "Tears of Blood!" Please keep it up! I plan on releasing two more chapters of Phoenix**** before the 15th. I'm leaving to go to Disney World in Florida from the 15th-22nd. I should be able to release the next chapter the night I get home. I will have some internet while gone, but not good enough to post my pre-written chapter. Also expect another one-shot soon about Peeta and Katniss' wedding day-possibly called "Pearls." **

**Anyone interested in helping me go over this fanfiction to fix grammatical errors after the 27th of this month-please let me know! As I will begin revising a chapter at a time. Also, I will be finishing For Their Entertainment shortly after the 1st hopefully (doing revisions there too). And I will begin a story that I have not seen done before. It will only be updated as I feel compelled to. SO there may be days where you get 3 chapters and then nothing for a few months. More about that soon after the first chapter is completed. XD But I'm sure you'll enjoy it.**

_**I'm slipping off the edge**_  
><em><strong>I'm hanging by a thread<strong>_  
><em><strong>I wanna start this over again<strong>_

_**So I try to hold onto a time when nothing mattered**_  
><em><strong>And I can't explain what happened<strong>_  
><em><strong>And I can't erase the things that I've done<strong>_  
><em><strong>No I can't<strong>_

_**Untitled, Simple Plan**_

He's dead. Ivan is dead. I can't breathe. I can't take it in. The world is spinning and I'm holding on to the table trying not to fall. He's dead! I know it! My mind is screaming it, but I can't really know. We're not far away now. I'm clutching the table, I'm in my nightgown. I know I should get dressed, so I can get off the train. But I can't. I can't move away from these doors. It's only a few minutes and I'll be there. I'll know if he's alive or not.

My throat is so dry. I feel sick and weak, as the train comes to a stop. I'm standing before the doors, they're just opening. The icy blast of snow hits me, and then I'm running. He's on the edge of the platform just getting here to pick me up. I run into his arms and he pulls me to him. I can feel his body heat as I burrow into him. "You're going to freeze to death out here!" He's pulling me into his coat. He's laughing and smiling with me, those beautiful eyes of his dancing.

"I—I'm so glad you're okay," I hold on to him shaking only partly from the cold.

"You're going to catch your death, we need to get you home." He pulls off his coat and drapes it around me as we hurry home through the snow.

There's a fire raging in the hearth when he drags me in, in front of the fire to warm me. He's stroking my hair, knocking out the snowflakes and rubbing warmth into my limbs as we sit there. "I missed you," I say it simply.

"I missed you too. I've been waiting for you to get home," his hand winds up around my waist and I feel a pleasant heat spreading in my body. "I know how to warm you up…" His lips tease at my neck.

But I push him away firmly, and jump up. I don't want to be touched—not by him, not by anyone. He looks at me a bit hurt as he rises to his feet. He puts his hands on my shoulders, and he's trying to get me to look at him. I just push away from him and head upstairs.

He doesn't come. I can't tell him why I feel this way. I can't tell him as much as I want him to hold me, to caress me I just can't do it. If he knew things would be easier—if I could tell him, maybe he'd understand. But I can't, that's the plain and simple truth. I can't tell him.

It should have been a happy homecoming, but it's not. We're like strangers in the same house. We're both struggling to make this work and it's not going how I want it to. I can feel him slipping away from me…

It's different. It's the only way to describe it. Ivan doesn't work in the forest anymore, he stays with me. I need him more than ever now—but the truth of the matter is, we are different than we were. I find that he makes me angry sometimes.

I know inside of me that it's not right. He loves me, but he doesn't know what I've been through. Sometimes, he wants me and I just burst into tears. He doesn't understand why and I can't tell him. What am I going to say? I have to screw other people in the Capitol so Snow doesn't kill you? I'm doing this so I won't lose him, but somehow…I've already lost him.

We have sex and I wind up crying. It's not the same, I love him and it feels so _right._ It's not that—it's that I've been unfaithful to him, even if it is for a good reason. But maybe he'd rather die than have me buy his safety with my body. So when I think of who I've had to sleep with to see his face, to be able to sleep with him…I start sobbing. I know he must think it's him, or something. I don't know entirely what he thinks it is. But when he looks at me hurt and confused, I can't explain.

Then we stop talking. We're strangers living under the same roof. But I love him, I love him more now than ever. But when I try to tell him—we wind up screaming at each other. I never meant to be so angry with him, but there's so much rage inside of me that I can't hold it in. And he's all I have left that was—that is normal, so he experiences everything. He sees the worse part of me—he sees the piece of me I brought home from the games.

…

I have never screamed so much in my life as I have today. The sheets are cold when I wake up, and he's not downstairs. He's nowhere to be found as I run from room to room screaming his name. My heart is pounding out of my chest. How could they have taken him while I was sleeping? How could I not have known?

The door opens and I spin around. He's stomping the snow from his boots, "DON"T DO THAT!" I'm screaming at him, "Why didn't you tell me where you were going?"

Ivan carefully removes his scarf, "I just walked outside, I didn't think it was a big deal. Besides, I got the impression you didn't care much lately."

I feel the hot fury in me so intensely that I'm not even sure what's happening until I hear the vase shatter as it hits the wall behind him showering down shards of glass. We both just stand there stunned, before we explode. I hurl insult upon insult at him. Every dark thing that's ever plagued me—every warped suspicion, every last fear he'll not stay or be loyal. And he hurls them right back the more I throw them at him.

It goes on and on. My voice is hoarse from screaming, there are shattered things on the floor…I'm pretty sure one of them is my heart. But we keep on, because even though I love him I want to hurt him as bad as I'm hurting. I can't even stop myself. I don't mean these things!

"You know what?" His voice rises above mine until he subdues me, "I'm glad your family is dead! They're better off that way then seeing you like this!"

Silence. Absolute silence.

We both stare at each other, and I'm waiting for him to apologize. I see the pale look on his face, but he says nothing. He just stands there chest heaving staring back at me.

"Get. Out," he opens his mouth to protest. "Get out of my house before I have you dragged out." I storm away up the stairs as the sound of the front door slamming registers in my ears.

…

I lay upstairs in bed, beyond tears. They're all gone. My whole body aches exhaustedly because of how much I've cried. I hate him, and I love him. Some part of me knows that it's me who has caused this. That if I hadn't have went off at him—that if I hadn't have yelled and screamed every possible insulting thing at him that we wouldn't be in this situation. But it's still not forgivable for him to have said those words to me. Did he mean it? Did he really? And most of all, was he right?

I know I've changed. It's so much easier to be like this, to keep up the mask…I should be the one to be dead, not them. If I had died, they would have mourned me…but they would have been okay. Ivan would still have his old memories of me, he'd take care of Sven and Greta. They wouldn't be dead or suffering…I'd be beyond suffering too. If only I knew then that there were far worse things than dying—winning was one of them.

…

By the time he comes home three days later, he's much more patient as am I. I ask him how's he's doing, and he answers. We make small talk, and then we're both apologizing. Both kissing, both crying…and both in bed.

I don't cry anymore after. It's our escape now. We start to get hot, start to scream at each other and I feel him pressing his lips into mine. I feel the heat shoot through my body as we meld together and divert our passion into something much more pleasant.

But I miss the easy conversations we used to have, I miss the long conversations. I even miss our comfortable silence. It feels unfamiliar when we're not talking, and when we are there's a wall in-between us. I keep hoping we'll be the same one day. But each day that slips by…proves that we aren't.

We're trying to make it work. I'm trying so hard not to loose my temper, not to be the brash "Capitol" Johanna. But time is not on our side. All too soon, I'm going to be leaving District 7 again for my Victory Tour.

The thought of it drives me to the box. I slip out of bed and down the stairs with it in my hands. The lid comes off easily and I stare at the contents for a few minutes. I roll the stone over and over in my hands—it's so smooth and cool. What comfort did it bring Feora? What did it mean to her? What did the bird mean to Piper or the coin of a Victor to Harris? I stare hard at it wondering why Harris wanted to be like Enobaria the Victor from 2? Liam told me about her games, I never saw her games. She ripped someone's throat out with her teeth or something. And Harris idolized her, or maybe he was just so desperate to get home. I understand that desperation. But his family, they're probably better off without him…they're still alive.

I understand Griffin more, and Riley. Riley's ribbon…it was the ribbon of a girl he loved in some way. A promise to come home…a remeberance. And Griffin's coin is one my grandfather told me about, it's the coin from when we were free. So long ago, it has to be worth a lot. It's got to be centuries old. I understand that part of him at least—that there was a part of him that wanted freedom. No matter how awful he is, I can understand that.

"What the—" I scramble around to see Ivan standing there. "What is this?" There's disgust in his voice.

I shove the things back in the box. "They're just—"

"Jo, you need help. This is sick," he reaches out to me.

"Please, I don't…"

He backs away, "Okay. Fine."

…

He's holding me close, kissing the top of my head. He doesn't want me to go. I don't want to go either. The pieces don't fit perfectly, but if we had more time…maybe we could find our way again. But I have to go, and we'll have to work ourselves back to this. So I kiss him, goodbye with my box in my hand hoping that I can hold on till I'm back in his arms. Maybe, just maybe some of the guilt will fade when I give back the families the last token of their loved ones…from their murderer.


	40. Broken Hallelujah

**That's it folks! I'm off to Disney tomorrow. So it will be a WEEK until the next update at least since I don't get back till the 22nd. Love you guys! Thanks and Merry Christmas!**

**Now I just have to actually make it to Disney with all this anxiety. No more Katniss closet hiding for me!**

**_Maybe there's a God above_****_  
>all I've ever learned from love<br>Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you  
>And it's not a cry that you hear at night<br>It's not somebody who's seen the light  
>It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah<em>**

**Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah...**  
><strong>Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah...<strong>  
><strong>Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah<strong>  
><strong>Hallelujah, hallelujah<strong>

_**Jeff Buckley, "Hallelujah"**_

I don't want to let go. I'm afraid that this time will be the last time Ivan holds me. I fear every time is the last time—I live in fear. When I refuse to leave him, Blight grabs my arm and pulls me on the train. The doors close and Ivan looks at me with such tired eyes as the train pulls away.

I keep looking out the window as the snow flurries fall faster and faster. I feel sick knowing that I'm leaving my home again. I really don't want to do this, I don't want to see them all. I don't want to face their families—"Hey, here's your kid's token back. I'm for the most part not sorry I killed them. Have a good life." Yeah, that's going to go over really well.

I've never felt so nervous in my life.

I enjoy the train ride. In and of itself, trains are soothing…but they're too fraught with lose to really give me much pleasure in them. The food is good, so much better than anything I can eat back home or even dream of making. If there's one good thing about being a victor—it has to be the food.

The days pass by quickly as we make our way to District 12. We'll start there first. It doesn't mean much to me. I mean I know their kids died…but I had nothing to do with this. One of these kids might be the one that Aeon tortured. They certainly won't hate me…and no one will love me. I'm fine with that though, or at least I keep telling myself.

I'm shown around the train by Verity and Blight. I've spent so much time putting myself together that Blight has given Verity my talent. I'm surprised that I'm allowed to have this talent really. I'm impressed at the array they've made of my "talent" while I was trying to breathe and live. Home-made weapons.

Verity calls them "quaint and rustic", "throwbacks to the weapons you made in your games." Like I could forget what I did there. But there's one that catches my eye and I move over to it. My finger touches the thick blade and blood pulls on my finger. I stare at it, and watch as it seeps out and down my finger on to my hand before I rub the blood against my thumb.

It seems fitting that it's my blood it draws now. The last surviving winner of our games. Make no doubt about it, I'm the "victor" but this blade is the only winner. It was made to kill and it did that. It did it's job perfectly. I touch the side of the blade this time, peeling away a dried fleck of Aeon's blood. I find myself thinking how easy it would be if only I could get close enough to Snow to stain him red. The imagery in my mind brings some sort of sadistic pleasure.

…

Twelve is bitterly cold when we arrive. Cold in a different way than back home. Back home, it's bitter and dry. Here the wind cuts but it also feels kind of…moist. I give my speech in the square. Thank them for their hospitality and move on. There's no special words for them—none at all. I had no allies in the arena.

My eyes sweep the square where people huddle and freeze forced to listen to me. My eyes settle on flashes of blonde hair glistening brightly in the snow. Unlike home, most people here are darker. Back home it's just as common to see blonde as brown hair. It's not even that rare to see red. But here, there are only clusters of blonde—better dressed then the rest or at least better fed. There are a few exceptions—the dark haired young girl—her belly swollen with child amongst a sea of blonde. A part of their family now, accepted despite her differences. Yet the other exception is just as obviously been cast off by her family. Silky blonde hair beside a tall, hardy, darker man—two children with them. A girl of about ten or eleven—grey eyes and dark hair like her father, her little sister clutching her hand—a perfect blond replica of her mother down to the blue eyes.

The ball there in the mayor's house is nice. His daughter greets me and shows me around. She's very nice—privileged but not spoiled. I doubt there's much here in 12 to spoil even the mayor's daughter with. The truth is while they seem more lax than us—they have less in some ways.

…

Eleven is balmy. When we enter in to it, I can smell the harvest. I don't even know what it is—what kind of fruit or crop. It just smells like life. It smells like abundance until I see the people. So much bounty and still they look starving. Paper thin and tired, like saplings swaying in the breeze. One good wind could blow them all down…

I give my speech here. Once again, it's not personal because…I don't know their tributes. I met them briefly…so fleeting that I don't even remember their names. I don't want to remember their names really—I don't need anymore night time visitors to haunt me.

I eat. I dance. I greet and I smile. I'm cocky winning Johanna with rage bubbling just beneath the surface. The truth is I just feel sick.

I know what is coming next.

…

We're fixing to get off in ten. I don't really take notice of what I'm wearing or what the weather is like. I could be walking on the moon or the sun for all the attention I'm giving. I feel so sick when I make my request. After the speech, I want to meet Griffin's family. I don't say why, I just demand in my most winning Johanna-ness to see them.

I want to give his token back.

As Verity fixes me, I'm lost in my own world. The people here hate me. I can feel it everywhere. The way they glare at our car as it passes…the way their eyes look as we make our way in. I am the girl that killed their tribute—brutally.

I made them watch. All screens were riveted so that they would see as Griffin struggled. He'd had a good score, he was a good chance for them. For once in years, they had hopes that their bellies would be full even if they thought he was evil or wicked or vicious or…well whatever. But I killed him—strangled him with my hair and ate his food, still fresh from where his mouth had bit in to it. That's who I am to them.

I'm about to go out there and give my speech. Let them see the victor who killed their hopes and dreams, who robbed them of food. And then I'm going to meet his family. What do I do? Do I apologize? Do I ask forgiveness? What do I say?

It all just wells up inside of me until I feel sick. Only a few more minutes until my speech…

My stomach is in knots and I'm gritting my teeth when the bile rises in my throat. I barely make it to a vase in the hall before I hurl. There's a guard looking at me oddly as I hurl up all the rich capitol food that I had earlier. It was not a good idea to have eaten that much before today.

The tour had been easy until now. This was where it got hard—returning the tokens. I stood up, straightened my clothes and wiped a shaking hand over my mouth. I feel much better now.

The speech goes off without a hitch even though they glare at me. Their eyes are accusing—angry, indignant. But I ignore it—I have to keep the mask firmly in place.

I wait in a room for them to bring Griffin's family. My heart beating so loud when the peacekeeper comes in. He says something but I have to ask him to repeat it before I can hear him.

"There's no family. Last relative—grandfather, died three months ago."

I'm left alone in the room fingering the coin, wondering what in the world I'm going to do with it now?

I can't toss it. I can't give it to the Capitol or leave it behind. I've carried it this far, it means something…What does it even mean? I flip it over and over in my hand as I stare at it. I don't know what it means exactly, but it's mine now. It even makes sense, because I would always be carrying a piece of Griffin with me anyways.

…

District eight and nine follow easily. It's not hard with either of them. I don't know them. I don't remember them. Their places sadden me, intrigue me, and fade from my memory as I'm getting closer and closer to District six.

We're near home and I hate we aren't going back there. I wonder how close we pass to it? I don't even want to know I don't think.

The train rolls in and I feel the anxiety rolling up in my stomach. I killed Flux. Granted she pulled the knife out, but she was in the final three. Whatever animosity that ten felt for me would be nothing compared to this—nothing compared to three.

Their hate is so strong for me that I find it hard to focus. I've never seen my District this seething before—of course, we never win either. They don't say anything or do anything, but I can still feel their hate for me.

I give my speech and I know they hate me even more for what I did to Flux. She was good, she was sharp—she could have won and we all know that. After, I sit in the room waiting for her parents.

They're short but thin and angular. Dark hair and dark eyes. I can feel their rage at me just below the surface. They're wondering if they can kill me before they'd be killed. I let them weigh it out in their mind until I'm satisfied that they know they're too slow before I begin.

"I want to give you something," I begin a little hesitantly as I reach in my pocket.

"What could you give us?" Flux's father asks coldy.

I pull out the smooth black stone and hold it out to them and they just look at it. "It's Flux's token. I wanted to make sure it got back to you," it comes out weakly.

Her mother looks incredulous as she carefully takes it from my hand without touching me. For a moment she holds it up, before she throws it at me. I feel the sharp ping as it hits my temple.

"We don't want anything from you except your life!" Her voice is cold, flat, and deadly. "You can't give us our daughter back—we don't want some stone. We don't' _need_ it to remember her. Keep it. I want you to remember her every day for the rest of your miserable existence."

Then they're gone.

…

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. I feel weak and shaky—a bit mechanical. Then I'm back on the train and in bed. It's a long time before sleep comes, and when it does Flux is there taunting me. She has joined my nightmares.

I wake up with the bile in my throat. I'm shaking and expelling all the food in my body. I hate this. I've never been so nervous in my life, not even in the arena. I don't understand why—

It hits me like a brick wall, crippling me as I'm leaning over the porcelain basin again.

I'm pregnant.


	41. Because Someone Loved Me

**I'm back! I had a blast, did very well! Score one for me! So this will likely be the last update before Christmas in two days. I'll have one to you shortly after, and hopefully something else soon. **

** Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!**

**Remember reviews are the best present XD**

**_**Isolde**: Know that I love you Tristan. Wherever you go, whatever you see. I will always be with you. _**

**_**Tristan**: You were right. I don't know if life is greater than death. But love was more than either.  
>Tristan and Isolde<em>**

I bury my face in my hands and rest it on my knees. I can't risk the Capitol seeing my face right now. I can't give away what I suspect—what I think I know.

Quickly, I calculate how late I am. A week, I'm never late and I'm never sick. A cold here and there, but I haven't vomited since I was three—not even in the arena when I had every reason to.

I'm pregnant. The word ricochets in my head as I try to grab on to it and process it, but it's nearly impossible. I'd be about five weeks, nearly six.

Pregnant.

I uncover my face just long enough to hurl again, before flushing the toilet and heading to bed. I crawl in and pull the covers up over my face so I don't' have to hide anymore. In the capitol, women go to the doctor's—take tests, even see the gender of their baby before it's born—or so I've heard. But in District 7, pregnancy is an assumption for the most part and the gender is always a surprise. There's no way of knowing, there's no being checked out really. There's a midwife that helps with the birth, she won't even see you until you can feel the baby move. Women in our district can die before then because of something wrong with the pregnancy because there's nothing really the midwife could have done either way.

And even though I have the freedom of taking a test, of seeing a doctor because I am a Victor—I don't want anyone to know, not yet. At least not until I can tell Ivan. The anxiety starts to lessen. This wasn't exactly how I wanted to do this…I wanted Ivan and I to be more happy, I didn't want to worry if the baby came early that it really wasn't Ivan's…

The panic overwhelms me for a minute, and my whole body is shaking and on fire until the flames finally abate again. It's Ivan's. The timeline is right, I had a period since I came home. The truth is I need to tell him everything, I need to. I can't keep secrets from him anymore. I just hope he won't leave, I just hope he'll still love me…

My mind goes back to what I'm sure is a baby growing inside of me. I can keep it hidden at least until I get home to Ivan. But then everyone will know. And my child will be able to be reaped in thirteen years.

The world is once again crushing in on me, threatening to smother me until I can push it back. I love Ivan, I do and I love this child even if it's not when I wanted it to happen or how. But I know what I will do for this baby, a baby I've only known of for an hour. I will do anything for him or her. I will die for my child. How can I protect it from the reaping? I'm powerless against that.

I come up with a solution, so easy and simple. I will go to Snow after I'm home and whether Ivan likes it or not, I will beg Snow for my child—any child of mine's life. I know he has the power to make sure my child is safe, I will do anything he asks—promise anything—sell my very soul if I have to if only he will make sure she or he is never reaped.

Finally, somehow and someway I fall asleep.

…

District 5 is pleasant but very….clinical. It's just like all the other districts. There are no special speeches here, I had no allies or anything like that. I tough it up, and I'm fine. I meet the other victors, and dance and eat and greet. It all blurs together. I've seen all the victors from twelve through five and I hardly remember any of them. There's plenty of that for when I'm mentoring.

I'm back on the train and on my way to four. My whole body is filled with butterflies of excitement. Finnick will be there with me when I have to face Riley's family. I can feel the anger in the district as soon as I step off the train.

The salty wind blows over me. I can taste it in my mouth as I stand there. But it's not the beautiful ocean, it's not the pretty grey sand that holds my eyes—it's a pair of sea green eyes.

Before I know it, I'm running, pushing past a peacekeeper to get to him. He stands up from where he was seated on the hood of a car and steps a few feet forward to see me. I launch myself in his arms, holding on to him. His arms wrap around me, and my legs wrap around his waist as I bury my face in my neck. Finnick is here. An island in the storm, a harbor to dock in before setting sail again. My best friend, my first friend.

He kisses the top of my head as he sets me down. "Missed me, Anna?"

"Why else would I try to climb you like a tree?"

His face breaks into that glistening white smile and his hand finds mine so easily. He waves the car away saying we'll walk. The peacekeepers, Blight and the rest walk behind us. "What they must be thinking," he laughs.

"I did look rather foolish, didn't I?" I can't help but laugh too. It's the first time since I've been gone that I've laughed.

"Well, people here expect others to be hopelessly smitten with me. So you're quite typical," Finnick squeezes my hand.

We walk in silence for awhile, people stop to stare at us as we walk hand in hand. "Why can't you be hopelessly smitten with me?" I cock an eyebrow.

"Please," Finnick rolls his eyes. "Have you even looked at me?" He laughs as I punch him in the arm. He leans over to me lowering his lashes like he's saying something seductive which causes some girls walking by to gawk at us awkwardly. "You'll be staying with me tonight, it's all arranged."

"Really? A night off that god-awful train with someone who's tolerable?"

"I'm so much more than tolerable," he makes a hurt face.

"We'll see about that," I smirk back.

"See if I ever invite you over for a night again," he quips.

Then we both fall silent as we walk into the Justice building. Some of the anger has abated, because Finnick has some power even here. They see the way he's greeted me—at least a friend, most will think a lover. They don't know the whole truth, but despite me murdering their tribute they're not as angry as six.

He's only a few feet away as I give my speech. I tell them that it was an honor to play in the games—it wasn't. I enjoy being in their district and given kindness by them—I really, really don't. On and on the sentiments I don't really mean or want to say. But I have someone I love back home, and someone inside of me growing that I need to protect. I have to be compliant.

When I go off the stage and change for the ball, Finnick dismisses my team who are all giggles as we go into a room. We sprawl out on the bed and talk—which is definitely not what's supposed to be going on behind these doors (I'm supposed to be changing) and definitely not what they think is happening (Finnick and I having sex). But it keeps them out.

I nestle to his chest and he rubs my short hair throw his fingers. It's a bit longer now than the games, I've been letting it grow out. He comments on it, and we say a few trivial things before he asks, "How are things back home?"

"Hard," I answer.

"It's hard to adjust. Are you and Ivan alright?"

"I think we will be," but there's some kind of doubt in my voice that he catches on to.

"You should have called, I could have talked to you about it. That's what I'm here for," he tilts his head up so I have to look into his eyes. "I'm here for you, always 'Anna."

"I should have," I can feel the sting in my eyes. "I…was just ashamed. Not sure what to tell him. And you…your mom…I didn't want to bother you."

"Johanna Mason, you will never bother me. We have to take care of each other. That's the only way for us to survive. I'm…free. Or at least freer than I was."

I look up into his eyes, and I see the hurt there. His mother is gone. She is safe, so he's free. But something else is there. "I'm here for you too Finnick." I weave my hand back into his for a minute, "I promise, I'll try to do better. And…it's the same for me too."

We lay there silent. I want to tell him about the baby, I want Finnick to know that even though he's mostly free—my slavery is just beginning. I want him to help me know what to do. I want to share with him the joy—but I can't. Because I know Snow is listening. I know there's more he wants to tell me, one look in his eyes tells me that. But we can't say it, not here. So he strokes my hair and we lay there for a half hour before we get up.

Finnick helps me into a different dress and I straighten his suit. I tell him about returning the tokens. He nods his head in understanding and asks the guards to bring Riley's family. I wait and wait until finally it's time to go to the ball in my honor. I eat the seafood, dance with Finnick, greet people—but Riley's family never shows up.

When I've given up hope, I'm told a girl is there to see me. I go down the hall, and take a deep breath before opening the door. When I walk in, she's not facing me. As I close the door, the girl turns. I see a small rope ring on her finger just like Ivan gave me. Her eyes are bloodshot and dark circles are under her eyes, but in her arms is a small bundle. "You wanted to see Riley's family. I had to sneak away to come, they didn't want me to see you," her voice is rough with sorrow. "I'm Riley's wife."

I'm totally caught off guard, not sure what to say. I just pull the ribbon from my pocket and hand it to her. She blinks back tears as her fingers touch it. The worn ribbon looks even worse for wear in her hands, "This was my grandmother's. She was given it the day she was born. It's been passed on to each of the first born daughters. When Riley….I made him take it with him. I thought maybe it might keep him safe. He told me if love was enough…he would come home to me." Her eyes look back up into mine. "He was a good man, Ms. Mason. He was. He was a good, good man. He'd have been a good father. He won't get to know his daughter, but I want her to know he was a good man. He wasn't bad. He wasn't like how you saw him in the games. He was a good man."

I understand what she means. He was good. He wasn't who he was in the games. So I say the only thing that I can, "He was a good man. I'm…sorry."

She brushes at her eyes, "Thank you for bringing this home to her."

She turns to walk out, and the words come out of my mouth before I can stop them. "Love should have been enough…"

She turns her head back to me and she gives a small smile to me. It's pained, it's understanding—"But someone loves you too."

And she's right, I came home because someone loved me. That's why we all want to come home.


	42. The Fix

**Thanks for the overwhelming response to my one shots! I've got a few more (from what I've seen) undone moments to do in the near future. And thanks for checking out Tears of Blood! I hope you continue!**

**So here's Johanna one last time in 2011. Special update, I've expanded my initial idea of 61 chapters before doing the second part of her story into about 100 chapters-as I did not give enough focus to her years between winning and the Quarter Quell (already completely mapped out so no "filler" chapters).**

**Happy New Year! **

**Special dedication to Jacky Dupree, who enjoys a good Finnick fix as much as myself, and in part influenced me to be less cryptic in this chapter than I planned.**

_**I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut**_  
><em><strong>My weakness is that I care too much<strong>_  
><em><strong>And my scars remind me that the past is real<strong>_  
><em><strong>I tear my heart open just to feel<strong>_

_**Scars, Papa Roach**_

After she leaves the room, I stand there for a long time. My eyes aren't even focusing as I remember what I did to Riley as his small child was forming in his wife's womb. I'm filled with rage, hot and pulsing. My hands shoot out from me, grabbing at anything I can find.

A vase, a mirror, a table, a chair, a picture frame. Shards of flickering glass raining down like crystal tears. I can feel the jagged edges pressing into my skin, the ripping and tearing into my flesh. But I don't care. I'm tired of feeling so helpless, I'm tired of feeling half dead inside.

The glass embeds deeper, and tears come with rage and I hear the running foostseps. A guard peeks in the door and I shatter a vase above his head, the porcelain pieces cascading down as he dashes out. I can feel the laughter welling in my throat. I want so scream to him, come see how vicious of a Johanna I can be. But my words fail, and I'm choking back a sob.

When the door opens again, I'm looking for something else to launch when I see it's Finnick. I run into his arms, feeling the glass shrapnel going deeper into my flesh as I cling to him as if he's the only thing left standing in the world. I'm sobbing uncontrollably, and still the anger is threatening to choke me.

Finnick holds me to him for a moment as he strokes my head. "I know these things aren't as beautiful as me Johanna, but that's really no cause to destroy them…"

I can't help but laugh at the absurdity. Stupid hormones.

My hand goes to wipe my face, but he grabs them. "Don't," he turns them to me so that I can see them.

The glass is embedded deep into the flesh, blood isn't so much dripping as pouring out on to the blue carpeted floor of the building. I can't help but wonder if the sharks will come to the blood…after all, we are in District 4.

He shuttles me out a back way, and I'm put in a car with my hands held out in front of me. And it hits me then, and despite the pain my hands are pounding against the window. "I don't want to leave! I want to stay!" I'm screaming it as Finnick fights to pull me away from hurting myself further.

"Shh…Johanna, you're coming home with me."

…

It's too good to be true, I think. I'm not sure why I'm allowed to stay. Or what strings Finnick has pulled to let this happen. The doctor has come and gone, stitched up my hands and removed the glass—leaving me heavily bandaged.

Finnick pours a drink, as he hands me an old shirt of his and pants. Without thinking about it, I slip off my dress and glide into the shirt—which comes to my knees almost. Finnick isn't paying attention, not that it would have mattered if he had. Nakedness means nothing to a victor after what we do.

He offers me a drink, but I turn him down. "I've lost it once today. I don't think another time would be good."

He finishes his drink off before pouring us a glass of milk. He saunters over in his pajama bottoms and props his feet on the coffee table before he asks, "What happened?"

I drink the frothy white milk. It's nice to have it cold, it's nice to have it at all really. It feels good going down, and I think somewhere in my mind about how my grandmother had once told me it's good for a forming baby. I'll have to remember to drink more of it back home. I drain the glass and rub my full belly before answering. "Riley's wife," I say. I don't have to explain. He'll know exactly.

Finnick looks at me long and hard, "Why did you meet Riley's wife?"

"To give back his token," I finish lamely.

"It's not good to see them. It'll only bring more harm than good," he says cautiously.

"After what we do, it's nice to see the other side too. Do what we're told or end up like that." My voice is bitter as I speak.

"We made our choice when we fought, there's never any going back," his voice is hollow.

"Do you regret it?" I ask him turning to look at him again.

He pulls me to his shoulder, "I'm alive to regret it. It's not fair to ask."

"Why not?" I scoff.

"If I was dead, I'd probably regret it too."

It's true. The dead would probably willingly trade places with us, but that doesn't make it any easier. "How'd you do it Finnick?"

"Hmm?" He murmurs as he holds the empty glass of milk I drained.

"How come I get to stay with you tonight? How come the peacekeepers are even staying outside?" I turn and look at him, but he's still staring at that stupid glass until I take it away.

"Snow thinks you might convince me to go back," he says slowly.

"He thinks I have more power over you than I do," I scoff.

Finnick remains silent.

"Are you going back?" I turn around in my seat and face him.

"I…don't know."

"Why don't you know?" I'm standing up, gripping my hands together. "If he has nothing on you, then there's no reason to go back!"

"But he does, 'Anna."

I sit down heavily, "Finnick…what does he have? There has to be—"

He shakes his head, "I think…" his voice catches. "I think it's already too late."

I don't know what he means. Shouldn't he know if it's too late or not? But nothing I say gets another response out of him about it. He leads the way to his room, "You can have another if you like."

But I clutch onto his hand, I was stronger before this Victory Tour. But being around Finnick, seeing someone just as broken as I am…I'm falling apart again. Though I strongly suspect the beloved and terrifying thing growing inside of me is not helping with my strange feelings. "I've come here to stay with you," I say.

Others probably wouldn't understand. God knows what my prep team things, or…well any of them but Blight. Finnick is a good looking man, a heartthrob by any right. People probably think we're having some illicit affair—that he's stolen me from my sweetheart back home or some crap like that. But even as I nestle close to Finnick's bare chest there's no feelings like that. Which it sounds strange saying that when you're against someone's bare chest…but there's nothing romantic there. There's no flame or heat. There is a kind of warm feeling—contentment. It's like when there is only one person in the world that can make you feel better no matter what's going on—it's not always your lover, sometimes it's a best friend or a child or maybe some person you pass on the street—for me it's Finnick. When I'm with him my icy, cold and aching heart thaws and for the few short hours we're together—I can feel it beat again pumping blood into my organs—pumping hope. It gives me enough energy to make it to my next fix of Finnick.

It's strange knowing him so short of a time, that I can know without asking that he feels the same way. Because as I hold on to him and I slip away into sleep, I know that if the dreams come I'll be okay. He's had them too. He knows them. There is nothing that I can say that will horrify him. He has seen the worst of me, and I the worst of him. So I don't have to lie or shield him when I wake up screaming.

…

Finnick is the one who wakes me though, just like last time. I can feel the slick, sticky sweat all over his body sticking to me like glue. I pull myself away from his thrashing and I speak calmly. "Finnick…" But he doesn't wake up, he just keeps tossing and turning and clutching for someone who's not there.

I do the only thing I can, I pull myself up close to him and each time he calls out some muffled name I whisper, "I'm here Finnick. I'm here." And little by little the thrashing stops and he holds me tighter. When it's almost over, his eyes open sleepily and look down in to mine. "You were calling for someone." I say gently.

"But she's not here," he says closing his eyes in pain.

"No, but I am for now. I am Finnick." I pull his head up to my shoulder and softly stroke the auburn hair. "I'm here Finnick, I'm here."

And without another dream, the night passes away.


	43. That's A Slap in the Face

**__A/N: *is at the bottom***

**_For the light in your eyes was gone sometimes _**  
><strong><em> I don't know why this old world can't leave well enough alone <em>**

The sun comes up and I discover my fingers are still entwined with Finnick's and his head is against my chest. It reminds me of the way…the way I used to hold Greta or Sven when they cried. How I could hold them and make their whole world better even though I had no control or power to. My touch meant something to them, it soothed them…

Tears sting my eyes once again as the knowledge that I could never comfort them again comes over me. Just as I feel myself about to lose it, he looks up at me. The sun shines on his bronze hair, and his sea green eyes float up to me. "You're awake," he says.

"Nice observation, Finnick," I retort. I mean it's obvious I'm awake.

He rolls out of bed, and his warmth and his hands leave me. I reach for him quickly, because I know we'll be torn apart soon enough. I'll be drug back into a world where I am bought and sold, where next I'll see Finnick through champagne glasses as we're pulled into rooms. He doesn't know if he'll go back…but as he leads me downstairs, I can see that whoever it is that Snow has against him—he loves that person very much.

I speak cautiously as my hands throb in pain. "You could do it, you know."

He pauses on the bottom step and looks back up at me. "Do what?"

"Whatever Snow has…it's not too late. You can—"

He stops me, "No, I'm the warning Johanna. That much is clear, I can't…"

"Maybe if I—"

"Leave it alone, Johanna. There's nothing you or I can do anymore. I should have…listened before." He pulls his hand from mine, and I glimpse what he must have been like in the arena. Strong, mighty, and fierce. I can see the anger in his eyes, the way for a moment he's almost in the arena again. It'll never leave us, not really.

He walks down the stairs and we're quiet through breakfast. The sun flickers through the windows as Finnick swallows again then talks. "Anna—"

"It's okay Finnick," I reach my hand out to him. "Let's just." And he understands. So we talk, and laugh as if nothing is wrong though everything is. The next hour passes too quickly as we both pretend to be okay—so that we'll have something happy to hold on to. But really, it's just a lie. We're both miserable inside.

…

As the scenery rolls by, I don't say a word. I haven't spoken since I bid Finnick goodbye. The trees and wilderness fade away as the train slows down in District Three. I can feel my stomach give a lurch as I realize who I'm going to be seeing here. In the crowd will be Aeon's family. They've not had a Hunger Games winner since…well, quite awhile and never one so raw in power as him. I know they'll hate me.

I dress and I go out, I give my speech again. My mind not even really paying attention to the words as I give them with false bravado. I see what I feel is Aeon's family, a sobbing woman with the same white blonde hair, small and petite while the man who holds her is taller than most in his district, he's not nearly as tall as Aeon. Two boys, tall and strong—the spitting image of the boy I killed brutally to come home. Their eyes glaring at me, but neither of them with the same vicious glare as Aeon.

Near them is a woman, whose three daughters are drawn in close. They look at me with exactly Feora's eyes, the same blue of the ring I wear on my finger. They're crying, but they don't look at me angry or hungry. Not like the rest of the people from their district. I had denied them food, filling food…The first winner in ages. But there is no anger in the eyes of their victors as they greet me. Beetee the male is nervous but nice, Wiress is vacant, and the other winners are too distracted as I am to pay attention.

After I've been dressed and released, I find myself once again going into a room where I don't know what to expect. My instincts kick in and I feel my body tense as I open the door. There's the woman, and her children standing there. Two of them look to be reaping age, while the other is obviously not.

I start to pull her ring from my finger when I see something approaching. I reach for an axe that isn't there, my instincts from the arena still ruling over me. The woman reaches toward me, and stops hesitantly seeing the way I react. "I'm sorry," she pauses and walks closer. But there's nothing to fear, not from her.

I stretch out my hand and give her the ring. For a moment, she looks at it. Her eyes welling with tears, she takes it and then takes my hand. I don't understand what she's doing as she slips it back on my finger. "She wanted you to have it."

"No," I carefully search for my next words. "She didn't want them to have it, I was the better option."

"No, she wanted you to have it. For saving her. Thank you." She's thanking me. For what? For killing her daughter? I killed her daughter, I'm trying to give her back a piece of her. But she doesn't want it. I didn't save her—I… She squeezes my hand gently. I didn't let her suffer. I ended it like I had hoped that someone would have ended Liam's pain. But when his life expired, no one was there to help him go gently. And I watched. I can understand now what she means, thank you for not letting her suffer.

And they're gone, and it's not long before I've left District Three, just another memory of blood and horror. The memory of Feora will be with me forever with or without her token. But she has never haunted me, she's only ever comforted me. I remember again her lapis azul eyes looking into mine, touching her ring one final time. Maybe some happy memories of what this ring meant to her had been floating in her mind as her blood ran out and stained my hands. Maybe she missed them in that moment, or maybe all she felt was gratitude that it was over. And I'll never know. Because like it or not, I lived through the arena.

District Two is luxurious by the standards of my home. I feel a sense of fear grip me though when I step on to the stage, everywhere I look I see the white uniforms of the peacekeepers. Is this where they come from then? I watch them moved around, the people at ease with them there. No one here is starving. They are well fed, they are the capitol's lap dogs.

The anger wells in me until I have to avert my eyes down as I give my speech. The parents of Piper are to the side. Together, united in their grief clinging to each other. There's no one else around them. Harris' family are quite the opposite, a tall and built girl—and a boy who looked remarkably like his brother about twelve or fourteen but nearly as tall.

When I wait for them after my speech, I've steeled myself. There won't be any more tears or heartfelt emotions. I'll never make it if not. These are the last two. Harris' family doesn't come. The peacekeeper comes to tell me that they politely declined unless it was an order, they're just outside the door if I want to make them come in. "Was it an order?" He questions.

"No, just give this to them." I drop the coin of the victor into the peacekeeper's hand.

The door closes as I catch a glimpse of the boy again—the one that must be Harris' younger brother. "Here Cato," the peacekeeper says as he passes the coin to him and the door slams shut.

It's a few minutes before Piper's parents come in. Their grief is absolute. The father clutches on to the mother as I give back her wooden bird without a word. The father touches it lightly, spins it and gazes at it. He at least is content that it's back. I don't see it coming, and I should have—because being careful was what got me home. Her hand flies out, unhindered by fear of repercussions in her grief. I feel the sting as she leaves her handprint across my face.

I don't flinch. I don't move. The anger wells up in me, but I don't say a word as the woman breaks down into sobs again. The father holds her close. "She didn't mean it…I'm sorry Ms. Mason…Please…." He doesn't want to lose all that he has left in the world.

"Please go," my voice is even—without any inflection. "A life for a life." He nods at me and hurries out the door before I change my mind. Only I won't. If I'd met the ones that had tortured Liam…I'd have done so much worse than what she did to me.

I drift through the formalties, the hand print still embedded into my very bones though there's no physical sign. It's a testament to grief—to righteous anger and it burns me on some mental level. I find myself absently twirling the ring on my finger until I cordially and sharply end a discussion. I'm done with this place. Despite objections, we leave early. Good thing about being a victor is I know how to get my way.

…

District One is less impressive than two but still well taken care of. I can't even recall meeting their tributes so the whole thing passes without incident. I wonder what it feels like to always be second best to District Two? And something in me finds it funny.

Before long, we're on our way home. I feel relief heading there. My heart is soaring when I think about being in Ivan's arms again. But unfortunately train rides take time so I'm forced to sleep overnight on the train.

When I wake up, I fold the shirt I slept in at Finnick's carefully before sitting back down. I'll tell him. I'm going to tell Ivan what I've done. I don't want to keep secrets from him anymoreA. He loves me, he'll understand. Won't he? Because he loves me. I keep repeating it to myself, because I'm terrified and ashamed to tell him. But I'm going to tell him no matter what, because he has to know. He has to understand—for the sake of us, for the sake of this baby. I put Finnick's shirt in my bag. I don't want to ever feel it's too late to save someone I love, not ever again.

And then I'm home. I get out in the chill of winter. The cameras flash in my eyes till I'm blinded, but I do not smile for them. I'm done with it—all I want is Ivan. My eyes search for him, but I don't see him. But we're early, much earlier home than we should be. When I'm finally released and driven home, I walk in the door and shrug off my coat and let it fall to the floor.

"Ivan!" I yell his name. But something is wrong. I turn the corner and I see him sitting there with his head in his hands. "What's wrong?" I pause there in the door frame, unable to breath or move.

He looks up from where he's sitting with tired, red eyes while his hands still cover the lower part of his face. He stands up and I can see he's in his coat. "Johanna," he walks toward me then stops picking up a rough old bag. "We can't do this anymore." I can't breathe! I can't breathe….Everything is pressing in and suffocating me. "You keep shutting me out, Johanna. You keep locking yourself in and refusing to talk to me about things. I can't stay with you, not remembering how it used to be." Everything in me shatters, but I'm still standing. I don't know how or why. I want to tell him that we can make it work—that there's a baby, but there are no words in my mouth. "Don't say it'll change. We've tried…and I love you. But…I can't. I can't do this not…with how it was before—not knowing that we aren't us anymore. I…can't."

He walks past me as I stand there shoulders squared. He leaves me in this mausoleum that entombs me and everything I have ever hoped for. It's like some sick joke—the one person I thought would love me no matter what…I drove him away right when I was ready to take him in and tell him everything. Maybe I could change his mind? Maybe I could run after him and tell him about the baby? Maybe I could tell him everything, like I had planned to a few minutes ago. But the truth is, I won't. Even as everything in me shuts down—I won't chase after him. I won't tell him—I'm too proud, too much of a freaking coward.

**AN: Hope you enjoyed! Next update will be Monday or Tuesday. From now on there will be two-three chapters a week. I'm working out a definative schedule as to what days I'll be updating from now on. Likely, Sat. Tuesday and Thursday-but not sure. Also keep your eyes out for hints on something I'm working on called Districts of Hunger (info about when it's coming will be on my profile), and a new one shot from Cinna's perspective.**

**Remember, reviews are hot ;)**

**_For the light in your eyes was gone sometimes _**  
><strong><em> I don't know why this old world can't leave well enough alone <em>**

**_ The reasons that I can't stay don't have a thing to do with being in love _**  
><strong><em> And I understand that lovin a man shouldn't have to be this rough <em>**  
><strong><em> You ain't the only one Who feels like this world left you far behind <em>**  
><strong><em> I don't know why you gotta be Angry All The Time<em>**

**_Tim McGraw, "Angry All the Time"_**


	44. On the Edge

"_But in the end, who does it benefit? No one. The truth is, it benefits no one to live in a world where these things happen." Mockingjay, pg 377-Katniss Everdeen_

**Folloing up on that, a fellow author from the Tears of Blood collaboration, zxskunkmuffinxz is in a coma. He got into a fight for protecting a girl he doesn't even know. He's got several injuries, requiring surgery. After a bad reaction to blood transfusion-he's in a coma. We're all waiting to hear more word from him, to once again talk to the man Nick, that we know and love. And right now, I feel so lost and confused and angry that bad things happen to good people. And though I've never met Nick face to face in my life, I love him dearly. He's my friend, and I hope you'll all pray for him, think of him, or even message him. Positive emotion helps people-somehow they can tell we care for them and that makes a difference in recovery.**

_**"Alone, I often fall down into nothingness. I must push my foot stealthily lest I should fall off the edge of the world into nothingness. I have to bang my head against some hard door to call myself back to the body."**_  
><em><strong>― <span>Virginia Woolf<span>, The Waves**_

Aeons pass it seems like as I stand there. The tears start to fall, ever so gently at first. But it's not long till they cripple me and I am drowning in them. My body is wracked with sobs as I lay on the floor, curled into a ball. I think of what has happened to bring me here to this.

Everything, everything I had fought to live for—everything I had killed for had been taken from me. Plucked from my hands while I was trying desperately to hold on to them. And here at the end, I'm lying on the floor wondering if it was all worth it. But those kinds of questions don't help. What has happened, has happened and no amount of wishing will change it.

And all too easily that day in the arena where I lost it comes back. Bloody, lost, confused, and close to death because of how much carnage I had just brought. The taste of Wren's blood in my mouth as the flashbacks of Liam's games overtook me. I'm not surprised when they join me—the cast of my nightmares. I'm used to them by now. Bloody vicious Aeon, Griffin making wretched sounds, and now Riley is asking why he cannot see his little girl. My hands cover my ears, but it does no good—they're not real, but that doesn't mean I can make them stop. They go on and on until I'm ready to scream. Their voices echo inside my skull, bouncing around in dizzying fashion. I can feel myself bending and breaking under the weight of their condemnation.

…

I don't know how long it's been since Ivan left when I pull myself off the floor. I know it's been no more than a day in my catatonic state or at least I think. Even though I want to lay back down and give up, I don't because there's a baby to worry about even if he doesn't know about it. My legs feel weak, my head throbs and my eyes are blurry as I make my way into the kitchen. I find something to eat—anything to fill the aching hunger in me.

After awhile, the hunger doesn't ache—but something else does. I'm so lonely without him. This place seems more and more tomb-like as I stay here by myself. But there's no one there for me, so I fill the ache by eating more food.

I climb the stairs, my feet are so heavy that I feel like I'm dragging them more than actually walking. I shed off my clothes, and climb into the shower. I think of the first time I remember having a shower—when my grandfather was a victor here all those years ago. I wonder even, if this might be the very same house? Who knows, I wouldn't remember. Every good memory, every good thing in my life has always faded away too quickly.

As the water beats down on my back, I find that I'm crying again. Before long I'm sitting in the bottom watching the water fall softly like rain, and I don't even have the strength to stand up. My tears mix in and meld until my head throbs and I'm sick and tired of crying. I don't even think I can cry anymore—but without fail, the Capitol keeps the water hot for me. After all, I'm a freaking victor.

I half crawl, half drag myself out of the shower and wrap up in a towel before I throw myself in the covers of the bed where just two months ago I was conceiving this child. I touch the sheets, almost convinced I can still feel Ivan's warmth. I lay there for hours even though I'm exhausted, and fade in an out of sleep. All kinds of voices and sounds are there and I'm powerless to resist them or pull away from there. Ivan's in the room touching my face. Everything fades. Aeon is there torturing the girl from twelve or nine or somewhere. Her screams fill the air before everything fades. Liam is there holding Greta and Sven's hands, he's speaking in a low voice telling me it's time to go. Where? I don't' know. But he says it urgently, but I don't move. A cannon booms and they disappear. I wonder if maybe…it was my cannon?

It's that sound that makes me struggle to my feet, still in the towel. My legs are like jello as I look at myself in the mirror. The light seems too bright, and I look thin. How long has passed? I can't even figure it out as I stare around dimly. I make my way downstairs, and I find my suitcase is still there. I open the top of it to find something—anything to wear. That's when I see Finnick's shirt. I lift it out, and bring it to my face breathing in the salty smell of him that reminds me out there is someone who still cares about me.

It's that thought that drives me toward the phone where I dial the number. I've almost given up hope when I hear his voice—slightly anxious on the other end. It's so soothing that I forget to answer until he says hello again. "Finnick," I didn't realize how weak my voice sounded.

"Anna?" He says surprised, but pleased. "You called."

"I said I would."

"What's wrong?" I don't even bother asking him how he knows, because he just does—he's Finnick and I'm Johanna. We just know these things.

I slide to the floor and tell him about everything. How I was treated in the other districts, the problems Ivan and I had been having, even the sordid dreams, and the crippling results of being alone—everything except the baby. Because, I can't tell him that—not over the phone where I'm sure the Capitol is listening.

"So you're free too." There's a hard edge to his voice. And now I understand what it means to be free.

"It's not what I wanted." Is all I get out.

"You'll make it, Johanna. You have to eat and just keep going. Do something normal." He prods.

"What's normal anymore?" Because as a victor I do almost none of the things I use to.

"Well, you're pretty good with an axe," he reminds me and I can't help but smile a little. We talk for another hour or two, and so much of it is stuff no one else would understand as we trail off in the middle of sentences and start again at odd places. But he knows what I mean, and I know what he means. It almost feels like he's there as I keep breathing in the salty shirt. I hope it always smells like District 4.

I'm hoarse by the time he bids me goodbye. I fix some food and get something to drink. I spend the rest of the day just munching all day long while I sit back with some old book my house was furnished with. I drift in and out of sleep, waking only to eat and read more, and to attend to my increasing bodily functions.

…

The next few days pass without incident, I go around doing my best to focus and live and understand the life of Jean Valjean and then Edmond Dantes. The phone rings, and I drop my book and flee to the phone, catching it before it can ring again. "Hello," I say breathlessly expecting to hear Finnick's voice.

"Ms. Mason, you're wanted at the Capitol." I slam the phone down and stare at it like it's a snake about to bite me. I curse loudly as it starts ringing again. My heart is pounding wildly as I lift it to my ear. _What am I going to do?_ "Don't hang up again." The voice is cold and curt, "You're to pack to come to the Capitol immediately."

But I interrupt him, "No." And I'm surprised at how firm my voice sounds.

"Excuse me? Did I not make myself clear. This is not optional—it's mandatory."

"I said no." I can feel a weight lifting. "I'm not coming. I won't ever come again."

"Ms. Mason, do I have to remind you what happens—"

"No, you don't. But there's no one left. I'm alone, all alone. You have nothing, so I'll stay home." I slam the phone down and I can feel myself smiling. It felt good to stay that to that curt little snob in the Capitol who makes the calls. But I know it can't last forever. There will come a point where I can't hide this pregnancy and then I'll be a slave again. But for now, I am free and I'm going to enjoy it.

…

The callous nature was an act at first. But the days turned into weeks. One phone call turned into another—at least once a day at this point. Finally, it's not the same man on the phone this time. I always answer, because it's quite fun telling them off at this point. "Ms. Mason, I believe there's someone-"

"No," I reply curtly. "He left me. So threaten me with whatever you like. Kill him, beat him—whatever you feel like saying. I'm through." I put the receiver back down.

I sit on the couch and close my eyes. I haven't even seen Ivan since he left. Even though Blight has come to check on me several times, he doesn't ask questions. Pulling on my shoes, I head over to Haemon's house again. I don't know why I call it his house though—it's just as much Igor's, Adam's and Nicholas'. They each have their own houses in Victor's Village, but after a few years of trying to live alone they all came to share Haemon's house for the most part. During the day, they'll go to their house if they want to be alone or something—but for the most part they're all there at Haemon's.

When I walk up, Nicholas is standing outside looking at the sky. I know better than to talk to him when he's like that. I once asked Blight what he was doing, and Blight had said. "I think he's searching for their faces in the sky." Ever since then, I don't bother him when he's doing it. Sometimes it's hours he stares, sometimes only minutes. But I let him find his peace wherever he can.

Igor and Adam are arguing like always, this time over a game called checkers. They were old school friends apparently—had always, and would always argue like this. Haemon, though is quiet, the leader of their group and the quiet one. I think I've heard him speak twice in my entire life, and even now I can remember his voice that sounds like milk and honey. "No, Johanna."

I stop still in disbelief he's talked to me. "This house is no place for you. We're old men waiting on death, daring it to take us. When it comes, we shall welcome it and fight it. Your place is among the living. Go to your woods, feel the blade in your hands again. Don't sit and play checkers with old men like us." I don't know what to say back to him, so I go home.

My hand is on the door when I hear the phone ring. Turning on my heel, I head to where I used to work—where they have axes I can use, where I can feel something like how I used to again. Maybe he's right, Haemon I mean. What would it hurt to have an axe in my hand again?


	45. In Victor's Village

**I feeling particularly crappy. Reviews would be a nice balm to this-feeling.**

**Thank you for my two nominations in best one shot in the 2012 Hunger Games Awards for "Nine Words" and "Remember."**

**_Districts of Hunger_-I have completed two full chapters of the rough draft, and I'm working on the rest. I'll be giving a tenative release and end date-it'll start in February or March, so keep watching! Thanks for your responses, and I won't be leaving this chapter hanging for long. See you Saturday, and believe me. You don't want to miss it...  
><strong>

**_Don't wanna let it la_****_y me down this time_**

**_Drown my will to fly_**

**_Here in the darkness I know myself  
>Can't break free until I let it go, let me go<em>**

**_Darling, I forgive you after all_**  
><strong><em>Anything is better than to be alone<em>**  
><strong><em>And in the end I guess I had to fall<em>**  
><strong><em>Always find my place among the ashes<em>**

**_Lithium by Evanescence_**

When I approach the woods, the peacekeepers don't know what to think of me or do with me. There's a small group of them staring at me as if I've got two heads as I angrily demand for the fifth time, "Give me an axe!"

I'm guessing a Victor has never returned to the woods or asked for the weapon they used to kill eight people with in the arena. But I'm not afraid of them anymore, not afraid of them dragging out Ivan or anyone to kill in front of me. However, it is obvious they are deathly afraid of me—which I use to my advantage.

I step forward until I'm face to face with the boy. "Give me my axe or you'll wish that I'd strangle you with my hair by the time I get through with you…." Maybe Haemon was right, the feel of an axe in my hands might be exactly what I need right now when I've felt helpless for far too long.

It's not long before I do have an axe in my hand. I hold it as they watch, shifting uncomfortably a few feet away. "It's not right," I say as I stride to the place where the hold all of the axes. Even I'm surprised when they don't stop me. But after thirty minutes, I emerge with an axe that's more balanced for someone of my size. It's rudimentally made, but it's familiar. I walk a few feet further out, and heft it in my hands. This is the first time I've held an axe since I returned a month ago from my Victory tour, which was the first time I'd held one since the arena. Instead of feeling the surge of tears or heartache that I felt then—I just feel peaceful as I swing the axe like an extension of my arm. I think of how easy it would be to kill each of the guards who are cowering in fear around me, the heady feeling of it making me itch to do it. But I can't and I won't. Instead, I settle for hurling the axe into a tree where it shudders as it thuds into the solid oak.

I pull the axe out after only slight difficulty to see the peacekeepers fading away to leave me alone. Good riddance. Better not to tempt me right now.

For hours, I sink the axe into the wood over and over again until my muscles ache with it. I don't know if it's good for the baby or not, I don't think it would hurt. I'm very tired and very hungry. I pick up a few pieces of wood, and carry my axe back to the shed. Just for shock value, I hurl it into the door beside a peackeeper. He turns angrily toward me, until he sees it's me. "Don't make me regret that I didn't aim at you," I drop the words maliciously. Because there's nothing he can do to me, nothing at all and he knows it.

When I turn to walk away, it's the first time I've seen Ivan since—

I have tried not to think about him, to push him from my mind. But I have always been worried how I would react when I saw him again. I thought my tenuous hold on reality would break and I would fall under the waves of pain and loneliness again. Maybe it's the peacekeepers standing there watching, or maybe I'm better than I think because even though I feel an ache of longing I am still standing. For a moment, we look at each other and I can see the set of his face. He's trying to hide what he feels from me. I know then, just as I had always that he wasn't lying. He still loved me, there were just other factors that had caused us to fall apart. Maybe in time…one day things could change, but as my eyes break away from him after only a second of contact I know the truth. We will never be the same, you can't fix what's broken. And…deep inside, even though I don't want to admit it, I don't want him to get hurt by Snow.

It's a long walk back home and I'm tired when I get there. I go to the kitchen and get a cold glass of milk, rubbing my stomach absently while I think. I'm considering what to eat when I hear the light tapping at the door that I know means it's Blight. "Come in," I call before getting another glass of milk. I can hear him wiping his feet on the mat.

"Johanna, Haemon wants you to come for supper—" He begins.

"Is he senile? He kicked me out this morning."

"Let me finish. If you bring some firewood," he smiles.

"So basically, if I was a good little Victor and did what I was told," I spout angrily. "I'm tired of taking orders."

"Johanna, you need to remember that when someone is trying to help you—it's not always to control or harm you."

"I don't think I've ever had the privilege of experiencing that kind of help before," I say bitterly. But I put my glass down and gather the wood I left on my front porch and go to Haemon's house. There's a haunting noise coming as we approach. Igor and Adam are bickering good-naturedly as they set the table, but Nicholas is playing the piano in a haunting refrain. My heart catches when I recognize the tune of it though there are no words sang, it's the tune of "Bury Me."

I walk toward him compelled and scared for Nicholas, who is the kindest of the other Victors and the most normal. I have never understood how he won with his sweet nature. "Why are you playing that? Who composed that?" I ask, my voice very soft.

For a few minutes, he doesn't answer. I'm about to turn away, thinking this is like the sky again. "I did," he turns to smile at me, his blue eyes blazing so brightly. "I made it so that I could hold on to the song." His fingers move over the keys gently, still playing that refrain again and again.

"But—"

"Ilsa died after I was crowned a Victor. We had three wonderful years together. No one can ask for more than that." His fingers move over the piano some more. I don't ask him anymore, but I sit with him. It's the first time, I've ever heard any of them talk about their past.

The days go by and more and more I'm called over to Haemon's. They say we're old, you're young—you're supposed to take care of us. I know the truth though, they're trying to keep me active. Sometimes, I go to the woods. Sometimes, I cook something—Adam and Igor teach me better than Blight did. More and more, I learn about their lives and it shocks me. Haemon was a smaller man, very able and burly. He survived his games by stealth and quick-kills to wittle down the numbers. Igor's games were typical, except that he had a gift for knowing how a person would react—and his most beautiful work in terms of survival was outside the arena when he made the careers turn against each other before the game even started. Adam had weaved an intricate plan, traps and mind games that left his opponents reeling as he played off their worst fears, and their worse qualities. But the most surprising is Nicholas, sweet Nicholas.

One day while Nicholas is gazing at the sky again unblinking, Blight tells me about his games. "He loved this girl Ilsa, who was very, very sick. She lived in the community center like he did. She was very sick. He knew that the only way she would live is if he got the money somehow to save her and quickly. He was slight, thin and unimpressive when he volunteered for the games. In the week till the games he put on twenty pounds, and he was targeted by everyone because of the winning streak even though he was thoroughly unimpressive looking. But they didn't know what he was capable of." I couldn't help but blink, Nicholas was the kindest person I knew—probably even more docile than Blight. "Haemon says he loved Ilsa very much, that's why he did it. He was standing between two careers, so as the timer counted down he took off his shoes and threw them at the edge of the plates blowing up the ones on either side of him before it was time to run. Even barefoot, he ran faster than most of them—the gamemakers had thought he'd be an easy kill with two careers beside him…He got there, and he fought with fury not carrying who or what he hit because he had no allies. Before the sun went down, the field had been cut in half and he held the Cornocopia and most of the supplies. But he didn't sleep. He stalked them, he killed them viciously. And seventy-two hours later, he killed the last tribute. They sent him what he needed, which was stuff to help him stay strong while he was awake—some kind of energy drink or something that they drink in the Capitol. Final count, he killed twelve of the twenty-three. He stayed awake the whole seventy-two hours."

I try to let it settle into my brain, but it seems odd that Nicholas did that—completely out of character. "How did he do that?"

"He loved Ilsa very much. And she got better for awhile, and they were happy. And then she died," he finishes.

"Did—"

"No, there are somethings that even Capitol medicine can't heal."

.

…

I'm reading another book on my couch, when something strikes me. I jump up abruptly and walk to the hall and stare down. I lift up the receiver and listen to the line—there's still a ring tone. I put it back down and stare at it. The phone is working…and there hasn't been a call for two weeks. Now's the first time I've noticed.

For an hour, I stand there and look at the phone wondering what this means. But nothing at all happens. I check it again and again. It still works. They've left me alone…

I spend the rest of the day and the next distracted. I don't know why they've left me alone, maybe they're just going by the philosophy live and let live. I don't know…but I better enjoy it while it lasts.

…

I see Ivan now and again, and we don't talk but I don't hide from him either. He glances away quickly, and I know he still hurts as much as I do. But he shows it, and I don't. I can't afford to.

The days pass and I'm beginning to wonder how much longer I can hide this baby. I'm four months now and there is a slight hard belly there. I've given up going to the forest or anything strenuous because I don't want to hurt it even though it's not noticeable in the clothes I wear. But at any moment, my stomach could grow—and that'd be it, I wouldn't be able to hide it anymore. So as I lay there on the couch, still unable to sleep in my own bed, I feel a sudden strange feeling. My stomach gives this odd lurch like I'm falling.

I sit very still, and try to remember what Mara said when she first felt my nephew. She said it felt like this, like you were falling. And I lay there all day, waiting for that fleeting feeling to return and each time I feel it, I feel myself glowing. My baby is moving!

…

Those slight movements that I had a hard time distinguishing at first aren't so slight anymore at four and a half months. Half way there. I can feel what I think is and arm or leg moving. Not enough that anyone else could feel it yet, but when I lay down at night I'm content to feel my baby moving around—it's the few special hours that are just ours. And with pain, I realize it's not going to be much longer that I can hide this.

The morning light is on my face and I'm stirred from my sleep by a fist slamming into the door. It takes me a few moments, before I make it there and I jerk the door open ready to scream at Blight for waking me.

Only it isn't Blight. It's the peacekeepers. "What are you doing here?" I ask sharply, but inside I'm terrified and it's everything I can do not to cover my stomach protectively.

"We're to take you to the train, you're wanted in the Capitol." I feel the baby moving, something that usually elates me. But all I feel is dread.


	46. The Shape of Things to Come

_****_**Chapter title is from an episode of Lost.**

_**No, I can't take one more step towards you**_  
><em><strong>'Cause all that's waiting is regret<strong>_  
><em><strong>Don't you know I'm not your ghost anymore<strong>_  
><em><strong>You lost the love I loved the most<strong>_

_**I learned to live, half alive**_  
><em><strong>And now you want me one more time<strong>_

_**[Chorus:]**_  
><em><strong>And who do you think you are?<strong>_  
><em><strong>Runnin' 'round leaving scars<strong>_  
><em><strong>Collecting your jar of hearts<strong>_  
><em><strong>And tearing love apart<strong>_  
><em><strong>You're gonna catch a cold<strong>_  
><em><strong>From the ice inside your soul<strong>_  
><em><strong>So don't come back for me<strong>_  
><em><strong>Who do you think you are?<strong>_

_**I hear you're asking all around**_  
><em><strong>If I am anywhere to be found<strong>_  
><em><strong>But I have grown too strong<strong>_  
><em><strong>To ever fall back in your arms<strong>_

_**I've learned to live, half alive**_  
><em><strong>And now you want me one more time<strong>_

**_Jar of Hearts, Christina Perri_**

I don't fight them as they lead me to the train, they don't even let me grab a change of clothes. So this is it, Snow will want to see my now. Well, fine. I want to arrange a deal of my own. This baby is going to be safe if I have to die to protect it, even if I have to lie.

I've almost made it to the train, when I hear the sound of running feet. I turn and see Blight standing there, a peacekeeper separating us. "Where are you going with her?"

"That's none of your business. Go back to your home."

But Blight gets in his face, "Tell me what's going on." I see the peacekeeper raising his gun to him, and it's everything I can do to not scream at Blight just to go. But the peacekeeper stops suddenly and backs up.

That's when I see Nicholas standing there. Tall and gangly still, but nothing like the old man I've come to spend time with. His eyes are dark and angry when I see him, and for once I finally see what he must have looked like in the arena when the plate rose up. He's transformed from the kindly old man that wouldn't hurt a fly to someone dangerous, and nearly unstoppable looking. He puts his hand on Blight's shoulder, and he's not shaking like he normally does, but his eyes don't leave the peacekeeper. "I think you should answer Blight's question."

The peacekeeper considers for a moment before answering, "I'm not supposed to—"

Nicholas steps forward again, "to live? Is that what you were going to say? Because if you don't answer his question, I do believe that's what's going to happen." I see Haemon, Igor, and Adam standing in the distance.

"She's going to the Capitol," the peacekeeper finishes.

"I knew that already, tell me something I don't know." Nicholas is nearly nose to nose with the boy.

"I don't know anymore. Just to put her on the train," the boy backs up again.

"Johanna," Nicholas brushes past him and his eyes are softer now. "Are you okay?" I nod at him. "If you're not back by tomorrow...I'll take care of it." I nod at him again, and he touches my hand gently as I'm taken away.

I put my hands to the glass as the door shuts, leaving them behind, and fearing what repercussions their interference for me might have.

…

I'm laying on my bed on the train wondering what exactly I can say to Snow to make leaving my child alone a good deal. I know that my offer will have to be appealing. I'll promise that I'll do anything at all—sell my body, sell my soul. I'd even go into the arena again if that's what it takes. I'll pledge my undying loyalty—and if he doesn't accept it, if I can't have my child be safe from him, then I'll—

The idea shocks me, I'm considering killing myself. Well, not even considering. I'm going to kill myself if he tries to do anything to my child. I lay there surprised at this change in me. There are some things worse than death.

I lay there and I feel my baby moving, it's kicks stronger than before. I had always thought that Ivan would be here with me, that his hands would be on my stomach—waiting to feel the moving of our child. This is not what I expected when I thought about having a family—it was supposed to be three, not two. But I'm alone, and as much as I try to hate him, I can't—not really. The truth is that I hate Snow for what he's done to me—what's happened to Ivan and I is Snow's fault, the Capitols fault. If this hadn't happened…Ivan and I would still be together.

But that's a different world. Snow did this to me, Ivan left, and I'm alone—prepared to indebt myself to the man that destroyed my life for the sake of my child. Because I love him or her, and I'm the one that is to protect this tiny being with my life.

…

I don't bother changing, moving, or eating even though it's well after midnight when we arrive in the Capitol. There's a knock on my door, and I stand up adjusting my shirt and taking a deep breath. "We're here," the voice says.

I jerk the door open to find the same frightened peacekeeper that Nicholas told off. I brush past him, knocking his shoulder as I go. I can hear him falling against the wall—not prepared for my anger. Who does he think he is anyways?

There's someone else standing there, just within the closed doors. She's tired and scared looking—but it's Verity nonetheless. She hands me a cloak, and pulls the hood up over my head stroking my cheek as she does so. She wants to ask why I'm here, what's going on—but even she doesn't dare ask that.

I leave her behind as I'm lead to the car—a sleek, black Capitol car. It glides through the still busy streets and we encounter no one. I can feel a nudge in my ribs as the baby moves again. The lights of the Capitol don't distract me from where I'm heading. The closer it gets, the more terrified I am.

But time speeds up, and I'm lead into the heavy doors of Snow's mansion—through the lush carpet and up the staircase where Snow is standing. I take my time climbing the stares, the baby kicking me again. I'm doing this for you. I'm doing this for you. Even if I had to give this child to someone in the Capitol to be raised—anything would be better than to have this child reaped.

He moves away from the railing and turns to greet me as I move away from the stairs and over to him. "Hello, Ms. Mason," the heavy scent of roses comes into my face and I feel sick. I'd probably feel sick even if I wasn't struggling with this nauseous stage of pregnancy. I don't say a word as he goes on, "I'm so glad you were able to come."

I want to tell him that I didn't have a choice, but I can't. I'm going to be docile, and willing even if it kills everything inside of me to do so. "It's my pleasure," I say hesitantly.

"Let's not lie to each other Ms. Mason," he smiles at me.

"I'm not lying exactly," I counter.

"Are you afraid Ms. Mason?"

I think about it for a moment, "I've been afraid for a long time, ever since the games." I hate saying it, but it'll do the best not to lie to him.

Snow stares at me for a long time. "I heard you've refused to come back to the Capitol until now."

"Yes," I purse my lips to go into the speech I've kind of arranged in my mind. "I—"

He puts his hand up to halt me and I pause with the words still in my throat. "Surely, you knew there would be repercussions, didn't you?"

I can feel my heart racing fast as the baby kicks again. "I do, but I want to make a deal. I needed to talk to you," my voice is almost pleading.

"All you had to do was ask Ms. Mason. You should have asked sooner." I open my mouth to speak again, and he silences me with his hand. "Wait please," he motions to a man in a suit who walks casually over and hands him something. He speaks in a low voice, and my heart thrums loudly in my ears. "I was told that there was a certain someone you love, Ms. Mason." The screen comes on as he hands it to me.

When the screen falls is placed in my hand I see a close up of Ivan, and I feel a certain kind of pain in my chest. "Loved," I say. "He meantt something to me once, but he left me."

"Don't you still love him, Ms. Mason?" He questions looking into my face.

I do, I really do. I love him still but more than anything is the sting of him leaving me. "I hate him," I blurt out. "I hate him for leaving me. I hate him because he left when I needed him most."

"Most fortunate then, Ms. Mason. May I call you Johanna?" I nod my head quickly more than a little afraid. "Well you see, he got into a little argument with some peacekeepers." He touches the screen again, and the footage zooms back.

I watch as he's walking along, and comes up with some peacekeepers just after dark. Something happens, I can't quite catch the words but I see Ivan lunge at the peacekeeper wildly. I hear the blows land, watch the flecks of blood spew out from wounds, and then I see the peacekeeper hit him with the butt of his gun. And Ivan falls to the ground.

I feel my hand go to my mouth, and the sting of tears in my eyes as he hits the ground, his eyes wide and staring as the peacekeepers hit and kick him while he doesn't move. I don't need the sound of a cannon to tell me Ivan's gone. "You see Johanna, the peacekeepers got a little carried away. We all make mistakes. I had thought you loved him myself."

Something inside me snaps and breaks. I expect the tears to fall out of my eyes and I expect to be on the ground screaming with the pain of it. But instead, I don't. I feel a heat spreading through my body as I look up into Snow's poisonous snake eyes. I have had enough. With all my strength I hurl the screen the short distance and hit him in the face, while I spin on my heel. My hand has just closed around the vase on the table and I'm turning to hurl it the short distance at Snow.

Time slows down, so terribly slow.

The vase is leaving my fingers, flying at Snow when the suit that had delivered the video screen throws up his arm in an attempt to stop me. His arm unsettles my balance, and I feel myself falling backwards.

I shouldn't have done it. I should have took it, but now it's too late. Even as I know what's happening, I'm powerless to stop it. It feels like it takes hours and yet only seconds until my back hits half-way down the stairs. I feel a horrible crunching pain in my back and side as my feet go over my head, and I feel the bone of my leg snap as it hits another stair. The pain is crippling as my stomach hits the stairs and I can feel another stabbing pain in my side that must be a rib. And as I tumble down the last little ways, I land on my stomach on the floor. My arm is at an odd angle, as I lay there. But I'm still trying to push myself off the floor, because I can't be face down like this—my baby!

That's when I feel the tears sting my eyes and the shooting pain in my stomach. I can't breathe and I'm gasping. Then I feel the warm liquid spreading out between my legs and I know the truth as I sob and struggle to breathe. But I don't even know why I'm struggling anymore as the young peacekeeper who brought me here, rolls me over with wide frightened eyes. I choke out, "My….baby…"

I hear frantic screaming as I continue to struggle against myself. Why is my body still fighting? There is nothing left. No Ivan, no baby. Nothing is left.

And everything fades out of focus, until the only sensation I can feel is pain. Then I go under.

**AN: Yeah, I know. I hate me too . I've already been shunned by my friend on gaia and threatened for this. So any further repurcussion are unnecessary she says.**

**Now to go bury what's left of my soul.**


	47. Pain

__**My friend Nick died that I've been asking you to think of and pray for. Thanks for your support in this time of need. Thank you for remembering him. Writing is helping me...deal with his untimely passing. I can still function and that's good. I wrote something for him, and I wrote to hold on to him. And now I'm writing alot-it's either that or knots.**

_**If you ever leave me baby,**_  
><em><strong> Leave some morphine at my door<strong>_  
><em><strong> 'Cause it would take a whole lot of medication<strong>_  
><em><strong> To realize what we used to have,<strong>_  
><em><strong> We don't have it anymore.<strong>_

_** There's no religion that could save me**_  
><em><strong> No matter how long my knees are on the floor<strong>_

**_"It Will Rain" by Bruno Mars_**

Lights flicker in my eyes and I feel something over my face pushing oxygen into my nose. I want to move it away, to stop it from helping me live but I'm too broken and too weak to even help myself die. The pain is wracking my body and I can feel the tears leaking out of my eyes. I contort and twist in agony, screaming with the pain that's not only physical but mental until—

My eyes open and I'm on a table, the masked faces looking down at me. I can hear their voices more like hisses than whispers. The serpent servants of Snow. It makes sense. I become vaguely aware that they're moving my legs before pain goes ricocheting up my body as they put my legs in stirrups. With a dull pain that's so sharply felt I realize that this is it. It's true, my baby is gone and they're taking it from me. I feel something ripping and tearing into the soul I thought I had no longer possessed, and the scream leaves my lips again. The pain is nothing—nothing compared to what I have lost. I can feel everything shattering around me and I'm screaming and sobbing so loud that it's the only sound, the sound of agony filling this entire place.

They're grabbing at my arm and I'm struggling, I don't want them to bother me—or save me. I struggle against them, against the pain—swinging my broken arm at them but I feel them pushing me down to the table again. I feel the needle press into my skin, and I watch as they push the medication into me.

My arms grow heavy, and this sense of heaviness pervades over me until I can't lift my arms—until I can barely turn my head. The tears that had been choking me before can't even come out now. Their hisses begin to fade away until I can't keep my eyes open anymore, hoping that maybe I'm just dying now.

…

I feel kind of numb. Like I'm there, but I can't quite feel all of me yet. But the first sensation I feel besides the numbness is the warmth of a hand pressed in mine. At first, I imagine it's the peacekeeper—he was the last hand I remember touching, but no…that doesn't make sense.

I try to focus but it's really hard to do over the power of the drugs. I close my eyes, and it comes to me. It's _his_ hand. I remember how I touched his hand the first and only time we ever met. I remember the way he pressed his hand into mine and looked at me with brown wide eyes. _Good luck_ it said, from lips that would never whisper or speak again. Good luck. And somehow his presence isn't distracting, it's one I've longed for a thousand times in my dreams—the one who believed in me without knowing me. I wish that I could see him again. I don't even know what it would mean or if he'd remember me, but in that one solitary touch I formed a connection with him. But knowing me can do him no good. And I can never speak of him as long as I live, not that I could—he has no name to me.

But the hand I'm holding is real, and it's there. The hands are large and clamped around mine tightly, but rubbing small circles. It's then as I start to surface that I realize exactly whose hands these are. They're the hands that have coaxed me back into sleep, the ones that on a few rare occasions had held mine while we tried to find refuge from the nightmares. So when my eyes open, I know that I'll see the bronze head and sea green eyes of my Finnick.

He's looking at me, his eyes are bloodshot and red. I can tell he's been crying. He doesn't say anything yet while I struggle to focus on him, to drink him in. Finnick is here.

"I'm so sorry Johanna, I—" He chokes out.

I squeeze his hand as hard as I can, but there's not much strength against the power of the drugs. "Fin," my voice is barely audible and hoarse. It burns to talk. "Ivan is dead. I wouldn't…do what he wanted. Then…I fell. It's not you."

He looks at me with those tortured eyes thinking that this is his punishment for refusing to go back. But this is my own punishment, my own fault not his. I can see him as he sees the truth in my eyes, "I'm sorry 'Anna," he strokes the hair back from my eyes.

"The…" my voice fails and I try to start again before he stops me.

"She's gone," he says.

"She?" My voice chokes. My little girl…gone. Never to hold, never to be anything but something distant from me now.

"Yes," he kisses my forehead. "I wish…I could have…" Done something? There was nothing he could do.

"You're here." I croak out gently. And I'm scared for him, because he's been refusing for longer than me…and there's someone he loves desperately still out there. And I know, just as he knew that even if he goes back…Snow will kill that person as punishment for going against him. But it can't happen, I can't let him ever feel like I feel now. "You have to go back Finnick," I say gently

"Why? It won't change anything."

"Finn, it'll change. Just be…loyal. You still have a chance," I can feel the tears falling from my eyes again. And maybe it's because of that, but he nods in agreement.

"I'm sorry," I say back to him. Sorry that you're going to sell yourself again, sorry that we can't escape. Sorry that it's because of me you're back in Capitol. My eyes are so heavy, but I don't want to close my eyes from his.

He holds on tightly, "I won't go till your asleep 'Anna. And I'll be back before your awake." I barely nod my head at him because the drugs are pushing me under. But I struggle hard against them, forcing my eyes wide because I know that sleep won't be peaceful. "Give in Johanna, you don't have to fight everything."

"Talk to me, I like your voice," I plead. As I'm pushed under, I hear him telling me all about his home. About the exact color of the sea at every time of day, about diving, about swimming, about the colors of coral beneath the ocean, and…

…

It is the day I've been waiting for. The pain is nothing as they place her in my arms. Her dark hair, her beautiful eyes just like Ivan's. But then she's pulled from my arms and I'm screaming for her, screaming for my little girl.

I feel hands on mine soothing me as I surface from my nightmares. But it's not Finnick's hands which I know so well by now. It is hands I know though, and I open my eyes and it's Ivan. I'm screaming as I watch the blood pour down his face.

My body jerks up and I feel immediate physical pain. My eyes focus while the scream still streams out of my mouth. Finnick is clutching my shoulders as the pain radiates from my broken ribs. "I'm here Johanna!" His face is close to mine, his hair tussled and his face gaunt, tired. His eyes are bloodshot and smells like cigarettes and perfume. He's come straight from his time with some Capitol girl back to me, just like he promised.

And I pull my arms up around his neck, and more pain shoots through me when I see that my arm is splinted, but it doesn't matter. Finnick is here. My face is buried in his neck, and I'm overcome with the salty scent of him despite the overwhelming smell of perfume. I'm sobbing and I can't stop as I cling to him because he's one of the few things I even have left. He strokes the soft down of my hair and I cry more and more until I'm cried out. It feels good to cry, to not be pushed back into unpleasant and drug filled dreams.

I feel Finnick's lips brush my forehead. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm here as long as you are, I'll make sure of it." I cling to him, hating that he'll stay—because I know what that means for him, but I'm powerless to stop it. And let's face it, I'm not strong enough to refuse him.

He talks to me about my favorite foods, as he untangles himself from me for a moment. I'm clutching to get him back, but he lets me know he's not going anywhere. He takes off his shirt, and cleans his face in the sink. While he does, I see the claw marks on his strong chest and back, and I know what that feels like. I understand what it feels like to think you're sleeping with at muttation rather than a human from the Capitol. But then…are they even really human?

When he comes back to me from across the room, he's still shirtless but he smells distinctly less Capitol than before. I pull him back into his arms and I'm glad his shirt is off, because it feels nice touching skin. My grandmother told me long ago that's how a baby bonds with it's mother after birth—by touching the bare skin to skin.

When it's evident I don't intend to ever let go, he crawls into bed beside me. Despite the pain that shoots through my ribs as I make room for him or in my arm as I throw it around him. I don't intend to let him go. We are the same he and I, very much the same. Broken, clinging to each other. Desperate to hold onto something that matters and desperate to be there for each other now that we've found someone who's made like us.

…

When I wake up screaming again, I don't even know exactly why. I can't recall a specific dream, I can't recall a specific pain—only that everything hurts, emotionally and physically. Finnick is still there though, holding on to me—coaxing me to stop my screaming again. And again, I'm sobbing and screaming as they come in trying to give me more medication. "No, don't let them, Fin!" I'm screaming at the top of my lungs as they try to approach me. For a moment he escapes my fingers and I see Finnick how he must have been in the arena. The drip stand that usually holds my medication is in his hands, and he's swinging it around as they get too close me.

I'm on my feet, cursing in pain as I try to stand on what I discover is a broken leg. I wobble to the side and regain my balance, ripping the IV's out of my arm and standing back to back with Finnick—a metal food tray in my hands. The pain is excruciating in my broken ribs, but the adrenaline feels good. The medics stare at us for a long moment, undecided what to do.

The door opens and I'm sure they're going to bring the peacekeepers in to subdue us. I swear to God, I'll kill them if they try—

But the words fail my lips as he walks in, he's here! Just like he's promised, and with one glance at the medics they're scrambling out of the room. He hasn't even spoke, and they're afraid of him.

I guess that's what happens when you're Nicholas Isoph, and you killed twelve people in three days without sleep. But all I can see, is the kind old victor who is my friend. And I realize how much I do miss him, and how glad I am that he's here—just like he promised. I give him a grimace as I stumble to sit back on the bed. "You're late."

He only smiles in return.


	48. Masoleum

__**Holding on to myself right now. Still a bit...blue. I'll be okay though with time. Thanks for the reviews! **

**If you've checked out my profile, you'll see that my next project-which will happen during this one is coming up. Districts of Hunger will begin on February 18th. It's a very...unique and totally unexpected story about the very first Hunger Games. I promise you won't be disappointed. I've been slaving over the concept for awhile and the first two chapters are completely proofread and ready to go. Several more chapters on pending proofing. More details of Districts of Hunger will come later. **

**I like to keep busy so I have a load of projects I do at the same time as this story. One of which will come up sometime-Trees That Can't Be Felled, the story of Nicholas, Igor, Adam, and Haemon's games. Hoping for the summer. We'll see. Johanna's story isn't going anywhere at all-meaning no hiatuses or pauses or anything expected except for probably a week break when I start the 2nd arc. The soonest I'll be done with this arc is mid-May. So any other projects I start will be updated along with this and then the next arc in the Johanna story. Expect the next update Monday or Tuesday!**

**Thanks for your support and kind words in this needful time.**

**Much love to you all! Thank you for being there.**

**Love,**

**Phoenix Refrain/Nina**

_**"Their screams would echo through the house and reverberate against my eardrums until my mind would fracture. Years went by and with each fracture; I lost a piece of my soul until I became lost and empty inside."**_  
><em><strong>― <span>J.D. Stroube<span>, Caged in Darkness**_

"I'm sorry. I've been here," he pauses gazing at the ceiling for several minutes just as if it's his sky. I take the time to lay back in bed and cringe. My ribs hurt badly and it feels like I'm being stabbed each time I breathe. The casts feel extremely heavy on my already tired limbs.

After a few more minutes, he comes back to us. I'm still struggling to catch my breath as Finnick sits down beside me a bit confused looking. "I had some business to attend to before I could come here," his body is trembling again lightly in the feeble way I'm used to. "You'll be going home as soon as your healed Johanna. I'll be staying here with you until then. Finnick will be dropped off on the way home."

"How'd you arrange that?" I ask offhandedly.

"Everyone answers to someone Johanna," he smiles. "But there is always the rarity." And I understand what he means. Even Snow has someone who can reach him. It brings a kind of giddy glee to me to think about it.

"How long has…it been?" I ask realizing that I'm not really sure how long I've been here in this state.

It's Finnick who answers, "Three days. Nearly four."

I look back at Nicholas as Finnick pulls the covers back over me. "Well then, you're still really late."

…

The next days pass without incident. After the stand Finnick and I took, and the presence of Nicholas, no one bothers us. The nightmares are unbearable, and Nicholas soothes me just as often as Finnick. Being the Capitol, Finnick has duties here and as much as I want him around every possible moment I know that he's running himself ragged to be there for me.

After one of the worst drug induced dreams yet (because waking isn't much better), where Aeon is attacking Ivan and dragging away our little girl—who's five years old. I wake up to the sounds of her tortured screams and Finnick wakes up with a start. His eyes red, his skin pale and clutching at something, trying to focus and accept that he's awake. He looks tiredly at me, and his arms go to comfort me. I realize how awful he looks.

He's eyes are heavy as he tries to comfort me. "Finnick," he doesn't seem to hear me. "Finnick. Go shower and rest. I'll be fine by myself."

He doesn't believe me and refuses to move. "What if, I go with you?" I ask.

"You don't need to leave here." He runs a head through his hair that's looking remarkably messy and greasy—very un-Finnick like.

I put my feet on the floor, while he tries to stop me. I swat his hands away. "I can't stay in this room another minute."

Nicholas puts down the paper he's been reading. And walks around to help me in silent approval. It isn't surprising. Nicholas never ever argues, he just—I don't even know what to call it. He's just there.

After much arguing with Finnick and then the nurses and doctors, I've ripped out my IV's and yelled myself hoarse despite the throbbing ache in my side. "If I don't get clothes right now, I'm leaving naked." I throw off the stupid gown I've been in to make my point. The doctors look like they're clearly questioning my sanity, but I don't care really. I mean, loads of people have seen me naked. So what difference does it make? It's certainly not anything to me. Finnick has his head down laughing, and Nicholas isn't disturbed by anything. I doubt he even fully realizes that I'm naked.

After a few more minutes, I'm given a robe and finally allowed to leave with Nicholas. If it had just been on Finnick's askance, I'm sure I would have been restrained. But Nicholas has some strange and miraculous pull over the people in the Capitol. I guess it's because he rarely uses it.

I feel a bit light-headed though I insist on walking rather than having a wheel-chair or being carried. Finally, we're taken to some underground place where a car is waiting. It wasn't that far of a walk, but my heavy casts on my leg and arm are extremely cumbersome and tiring. When we sit down in the car, I lean my head back gasping for air. I don't even care about looking out the window or listening to Finnick and Nicholas talk. Finally, we've arrived wherever we're going.

I open my eyes to find it's another underground parking area or pick-up or well something. We get out and on to an elevator. Finnick presses a number that says four. The elevator takes us up to the floor, and opens it's doors to show us a hallway. We walk past all the other doors to the very end, where Finnick takes out a key and opens it. The door glides open and the room is warm and pleasant. The walls are sand and blue coloured, gulls floating across the blue skies of the walls. "What's this?" I'm not sure exactly where we're at. I mean, I imagined the Training Center or…something?

"It's the Slots." He tosses the keys on to the table.

"The slots?"

"Each floor represents a district. Each room is a different winner's. Kind of like little…cubby holes to put us away in while we're here. Some rooms haven't even be used. Your room will be on the seventh floor. You, of course, are given a spending account to make it as 'home-like' as possible to make you comfortable. But I didn't want you to even have to deal with that right now," his voice is bitter. "It's where we stay when our tributes have died…or when we're up here for any other reason." He walks to the bar, and grabs a bottle and pours a tall glass of amber liquid.

He walks toward me and sits down, the glass half gone and the bottle in his other hand. I don't hesitate as I grab the glass and take a long drink and lay my head back. The warmth spreads through me so quickly as I hand Finnick the glass back. It feels nice to have this warmth again—something I've only had a few times in my life. It doesn't dull my senses or anything, my tolerance is good. The feeling of warmth though persists as I drink another glass before quitting. I see that even Nicholas is having a glass of white liquid.

…

It's morning when I wake up to find that Nicholas is once again reading his paper while Finnick and I hang half on and off the couch asleep. My head gives a slight ache, more from the lack of morphling, which I found out was the drug they were giving me, I think than the excess of alcohol. I smack Finnick's leg, "Go shower…you're not pretty anymore."

Finnick looks at me offended as he wakes up, "I'm always pretty. You're the one that hasn't showered for days!"

I wrinkle my nose at him, because he's probably right. "Well, how am I supposed to shower like this?" I motion to my casts.

"Garbage bags," Finnick laughs.

"You've got to be kidding me…"

But garbage bags it is. With a chair, a little help into the bathroom, garbage bags, and tape I'm finally under the stream of water sitting. Finnick is sitting outside the shower, lying on the cool tile. Despite that, I take my time. The cool water feels good on my skin, and scrubbing off the medical smell is hard but nice. I can feel the hard sting of tears in my eyes, but I refuse to give in again. There's no baby, there's no Ivan, there's nothing left to hold over me. I'm free.

But freedom doesn't feel that good. Not like this. I hear Finnick as he mumbles, which tells me he's asleep. It's that knowledge that causes the tears to seep out. I'm free. I'm free. Snow can't do anything to me now, only…it's not like winning, it's not like I've done anything to deserve this or that I can enjoy this. I'm just…free. Just adrift.

What am I even going to do when I get home? What is there left to do? There's no one left to protect. I won't fall in love again, not even if I wanted to. I won't allow that. So I'll just be…alone.

Alone.

It echoes in my mind as I stand up in the shower and wipe off my face. I take a deep breath before I come out. It doesn't take long to dry off, but it takes a good deal longer to wake up an exhausted Finnick. I make it out of the room onto the bed while he showers and find another shirt of his to dress in like before.

…

The days pass. I inevitably get better. Still, it's four more days before I'm allowed to leave and go home. Time seems to creep until we get on the train—then everything starts speeding up horribly fast. It's no time at all until I'm hugging Finnick goodbye, and stealing three of his shirts to take home. He promises to call, and he has this sad look in his eyes as leaves me with his parting words. "See you at the games."

The doors shut and I'm left alone with Nicholas. We sit together not speaking at all, but he's there just an inch away from my arm—not intruding. When we get off the train, I take his shaking arm in mine which suddenly seems a lot firmer. He leads me off the train into the cold air. There's no peacekeepers there except the boy who picked me up at the bottom of the stairs in the Capitol. He looks like he feels sorry for me, but he doesn't say a word.

Nicholas and I move past and I veer to go to my house when we reach Victor's Village, but he tugs me back. "No, Johanna. You're not staying alone tonight."

"But—"

"Did you know that we don't call it Victor Village." He pauses and I don't say anything as he continues on, "We call it The Graveyard. The houses are the Masoleum's." I shudder against him, but he's right. I don't fight him though as he leads me to their home. I make it up the stairs and into the house. The others have the living room set up for me. There's pillows and a blanket. My stack of books, and there's my box right there on top of my pillow. We eat, they ask if I need anything for pain. They have gentle hands as they help me around, and I don't have the heart to be bitter or angry at them. I feel so frail being back home all alone again. Well, I'm not alone…but after sharing my body with a baby for months—it feels remarkably lonely in my skin.

As I lay my head down on the pillow just to prop my foot up, I hear Nicholas sitting at the piano singing the words to the song of our district without fear. The full chorus of "Bury Me" breaks out in the chill air and carries. So this is what it means to live without fear, to have everything you have ever loved taken from you. This is what freedom really feels like.

It's Nicholas' haunting voice that lulls me into sleep as Blight pulls the covers up over me.


	49. Free at Last

**Thanks for your outflowing of love again. I'm in awe of it. And thanks for the excitement over my next few projects. Please vote in my poll on my profile if you don't mind.**

**Also, I feel like doing a one shot or two. Make suggestions of characters and scenes and I might use one of them or all of them. I also have a huge list of minor scenes to pull from.**

**Next update Wed or Thursday.**

**_Broken pieces of_**

**_A barely breathing story_**

**_ Where there once was love_**  
><strong><em> Now there's only me and the lonely<em>**

**_The Lonely by Christina Perri_**

After I stay with them for a week, I make my intentions known that I'm going back home. They insist that I can stay as long as I like, but I can't. I can't stay here with them and cling to them as much as I want to. I am stronger than that—not that they're not strong. I just can't give in and stay here…I need to try to do what I can to…I don't even know.

But I pack, and I tell them I don't need to be led back to my house that I can walk just fine. Haemon tells me I will be there for meals and I don't argue—only the Capitol is better at cooking than Igor and Adam.

It takes a few minutes before I get there since my leg is still heavy in the cast. When I open the door, nothing is changed. Everything is exactly the same as I left it about three weeks ago. I go to the kitchen and see that Blight has put fresh food in there for me. I pick up the bottle of milk and stare at it for a few minutes. This is what I did everyday that I could since I was pregnant. My hand starts trembling and my anger surges as I sling the bottle and let it shatter against the walls.

…

After three more weeks, my cast isn't quite ready to come off and my body has stopped begging for medication to release me from pain. I'm seriously thinking of clubbing some peacekeepers with it. I'm going crazy in this house. I can't say here another moment. All I can think of is how quiet this place is…how loud it would have been with my daughter running around with Greta and Sven. Think of how Liam would be coming home from work with Ivan everyday. How Ivan's little boy would be so adorable…and I'd find myself close to tears again.

I head out the door when these thoughts come on again and head to the woods. There's that same peacekeeper boy standing there. I'm irritated to see him, but he hands me my axe as though they've all been waiting on me to come back. I head into the woods and I see them looking at me—Ivan's friends. One of them even dares to say, "I'm sorry for your loss."

I just stare at him and blink until he disappears. I can't be friendly to any of them anymore. Each act of kindness I do will be a way for Snow to reach me. Besides there's no one left who really cares more than on the superficial surface outside of The Graveyard. So why pretend I care what they say and don't really mean?

Even with the cast on my hand, I bury the axe into the tree over and over again. I knock down tree after tree and hack it to little pieces because I can. But it's not enough for my fury or rage, it goes far past my energy.

I go back again and again, and again. Instead of my rage abating, it grows and so does my strength.

…

It's another two weeks before I can manage to go out to the graves. There are two cemeteries out here—the tributes graves and the town's graves. The Victors have their own burial just beyond the houses—only victors, not even their families.

It's cold and chill and I've been chopping all day long when I head out an hour before sunset. I find the number that signifies Liam's grave in the tribute area and sit down and stare at him. His name is carved there below, I did that…years and years ago right after he died. I swallow hard, the pain of losing him echoing through me again.

I make my way to my mother's grave and my father's. Finally I make my way to my grandmother's, Sven's, and Greta's. They aren't far apart and the last two are so very tiny. I carve their names into pieces of wood beneath the number and fasten them. It's what the families of the dead do—if there are any families.

I sit there for a long time wondering if there was something I could have done to change this. Did Snow do it? Was it really just an accident? Would I ever know? Did it even matter? I'd blame him anyways, the truth wouldn't stop that. But I want their forgiveness. But what for? What did I do to get them killed? I wasn't there. I wasn't there to save them.

The sun is sinking, and the sky is glowing bright red as I find Ivan's grave. I sit there with him and I know it's strange, but I talk. I tell him about our little girl. I tell him I'm sorry I didn't tell him sooner. I ask him why did he leave even though I know that it's because I was unbearable. I tell him that I'm not mad at him, I was…but I know now he was just trying to survive. I beg him to forgive me, because it's my fault he's gone.

But of course, he says nothing.

I wonder as I sit there, a few silent tears running down my face, if anyone sat with him the night before his body was interned in the ground? Did anyone recite the words of our district over him so that he knew he was loved and in peace?

I can't imagine anyone ever did. Because, who but I have loved him?

I hate singing, and my voice is absolutely wretched. But I know that somewhere out there Snow is probably listening so I sing. I give him the biggest screw you I can right now. I sing the full banned song, loud and clear. I can see the lights go out in houses close by and shutters and doors drawn. It's suicide to sing this song.

But no one can touch me. No one can punish me. Not anymore. There's nothing left to fear. Not death. I will greet it when it comes with arms wide, as a friend. I don't have to fight to survive anymore, all I have to do is be.

As I sing it, and carve the name my mind can't help but delight. See Snow? Kill me or let me live, I win. Because I don't care anymore. You punished me. You pushed me too far, now there's nothing left you can do. Nothing.

…

It's only about fifteen minutes later that a few peacekeepers show up. They look prepared to execute me on the spot, but I stand up and brush by them—singing louder and more off key than ever. I knock into their shoulders and they can't push me back or punish me. I'm a Victor.

The sounds of the song echo off the shuttered and dark houses, that are much too dark for so early. The thing is I don't care for them either. I pledge no allegiance to these people. Snow can try to threaten to kill them—but he and I both know that won't be any good, because I really don't care anymore. I don't care for anyone but myself and a few hollow-eyed Victors. What's he going to do? Kill us? We'll win anyways. He'll just put us out of our misery.

…

Time has no meaning. In The Graveyard, we only worry about the other inhabitants of the Masoleum's—the living are not our concern.

I do what I want, pretty much when I want it. Each night, I look over the contents of my box and remember my past life. Each time I question what I feel and more and more the answer becomes anger. My nights are filled with dreams of how I will murder Snow. My favorite is with my hair…but that would require me having to grow it back out. I touch my hair gently, maybe not then. I don't want to be hindered by hair length. I'll do it with my hands…but then it fades into anything that's available.

That's how I spend my days and nights. Well, I heckle the peacekeepers too. But I'm too popular in the Capitol for an accident it seems.

It's strange how things that once meant something to you can mean next to nothing. There are things you dread in life or even are anxious for—but there's nothing to mark the calendar for me, at least I didn't think.

I'm asleep on the couch when I hear a knock at the door. I had a particularly bad night of dreams so I'm not too happy about visitors. I yell for them to go away, but the door swings open. My hand finds a large piece of wood and I stand up ready to swing at any peacekeeper who's come in here.

Regrettably, it's just Blight.

"What are you waking me up for?" I mumble as I sit back on the couch and rub my eyes.

"It's time to get ready Johanna."

"For what? I've got nothing happening."

"It's the Reaping, Johanna. You're a mentor."

I swear under my breathe, and find some clothes. Because this one thing that isn't negotiable. I spent my entire life dreading this day, and now it means next to nothing. Just a little blip on my radar where I'll have to go to The Capitol for awhile. I'll get to see Finnick though.

But it doesn't mean anything else. I'll try to save two kids, and I'll likely fail. That's about it. And this day meant so much more to me a year ago, it was the catalyst that brought me to this apathetic situation. A year ago today I was happy and in love. If I ever wanted to pin point the death of me—it would be this day.

I take a deep breath and stuff a bag full of clothes, grabbing my favorite red dress from the Capitol. I delicately fold that, and grab up a book or two—more for familiarity since I doubt I'll have time to read and my box. For a few minutes, I stand there looking at the box before I make my decision.

I can't hold on anymore. I keep saying nothing matters, now I need to prove it. There's a burning ache in my chest as I pull the woven leather band off my finger and lock it into the box, along with the rest of my heart.


	50. Mentor and Tributes

**__First three chapter_s _of Districts of Hunger is written and edited and awaiting for February 18, 2012!**

**Hope you enjoy this, because things are about to get...very interesting! Next update Sat. morning!**

**_In preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable._**  
><strong><em><span>Dwight D. Eisenhower<span>_**

By the time we arrive, the town square is full. Everyone's in their best clothes—which isn't saying much. They nod to Blight, but they ignore me for the most part—good.

I make my way on to the stage with the other Victors and take a seat, for the most part ignoring the speech. The other Victors seem a bit more attentive, but I know that Nicholas is doing that creepy thing where he sleeps with his eyes open. It really just freaks me out, but hey it's one way to get through a Reaping.

I look out across the kids and it's hard to believe that I'm not quite seventeen—that a year ago, I was standing out there nervous of being picked. I had a boyfriend who was on his last year and two siblings who weren't even of age yet, my troubles were just beginning. Now I'm not even seventeen and there's nothing left I fear—no Reaping, no Capitol, no Snow. If only those frightened faces out there knew that there was more to fear than death. But they'll have to learn the hard way if they make it out.

Sibyll is reaching into the bowl. She doesn't embellish, she doesn't make us endure—she just reaches in and grabs the paper. Her voice is clear—slightly tremulous when she announces. "Eve Johan!"

I see the girl instantly, she's in the seventeen year old section. She's wiry and lean. There's a proud lift of her head as she pushes back a younger sibling who grabs a hold of her arm. The boy backs away— only twelve by the looks of him. Dark hair and big blue eyes like Liam. I shake the thought away as the girl shakes my hand on the stage.

Her hair is jet black. Her eyes are a clear blue, and she looks wise. She's not the typical tribute. I notice her arm is bruised, which makes me realize she's from the Community Center. Tough and gritty, that's how they are. It's a common misconception that they're more often chosen than the kids with family. Which isn't true, they usually have less tessarae—less reason to. She takes her place beside me, about an inch or two taller than me, with her hands behind her back. I notice she's not even shaking.

I kind of like her.

Sibyll reaches in and grabs another name without embellishment.

"Caine Gregori!"

He's tall, I notice as he shoulders through from the eighteen year old section. He's got dark brown eyes and skin darkened by the sun. He comes up and shakes Blight's hand then mine while Sibyll announces their names again. He's big, a good four inches taller than me. I've seen him in the woods before—another Community Home kid. But he's strong, and he doesn't look at all surprised that he's here.

…

The tributes are taken away for their goodbyes and Blight tugs on my arm. "We'll go to the train, the reporters don't gather till later. We won't be bothered if we go now." Sounds like a good enough reason.

Over the next hour, I settle into my new room and bury my face in my hands. I don't know what I'm going to do. I prepared to have tributes who'd be stupid and useless like most of the tributes from our District—but these kids had a chance and it hurt. Because inevitably they would fail and all of that hope—all of that feeling would be wasted. But I can't…I can't not help.

…

When they arrive, Blight and I call them to the sitting room. Sibyll is silent, probably remembering how easily she was fooled by me last year. Blight looks politely puzzled but I just stare at them both—and they stare right back after we watch the Reapings. I paid less attention then I should, because I was too busy assessing them and because I knew I could watch the Reapings over and over again in the Capitol.

I can't help but smile. "There's two ways to play," I toss my legs over the side of the chair getting comfy. "Either you can let yourself die in the bloodbath—relatively painless or you can die painfully later on by careers or mutts."

Eve smirks, "And pray tell which did you do?"

I smile back at her wickedly, "What do you think? I died painfully, every single day since then. So think about it before you decide that winning is the best option."

Caine starts to say something, "That's enough, Johanna." Blight's voice is still kind and patient. "Kaine," he stops and considers a moment. "Eve. What kind of skills do you have?"

Caine shrugs his shoulders, "I can use an axe very well. I know a little about first aid. I'm good with a knife, and I can lift a lot. I want to live at any cost."

"Why?" Blight asks it.

"A girl. I took out my extra tessarae for her." It's just what Ivan had done for me, and he would have been safe if it wasn't for me. How could I tell this boy, that it'd be easier on her if he just died?

Eve chirps in, "I can climb very well. I'm stronger than I look. I'm smart and fast. I'm persuasive and I'm pretty. I will do anything, anything at all to win. I have a brother in the Community Center. He's twelve—Acanthus."

Blight points to her arms, "Who did that?"

She laughs wickedly, "I got slapped around when Old Hark—he's in charge of the Center—told me I had to give my extra tessarae to the Community Home. I told him it'd be over my dead body and didn't he know that stealing was punishable by death? It earned me a few smacks, but I got to keep it in the end—that's what mattered."

On and one the conversation goes. We learn all about them even though I really don't want to. More and more it seems that they really have a chance. As we settle in for the meal, we start to develop strategy. I fork some lamb stew into my mouth as I ask, "Are you going to stick together or not?"

Caine looks over at Eve, "It works well for the Careers."

She nods her head, "We need to stick together. It's our best chance."

"Final decision?" Blight asks as he dabs his mouth with a napkin. They both nod their head and he continues, "Then you need to stay together till the final six. Don't split till then." They both nod.

"Split up at the stations," I offer. "Don't play yourself up, or play yourself down. Appear relatively average. Try things you don't know, make sure to do the edible station. Do everything at least once. Don't stick together so people are surprised when you work together in the arena—keep up an indifference to each other."

Our talk extends way past midnight. They ask about what they should do, they tell about themselves, and they look at us expectantly before Blight and I send them to bed like children so that the grown-ups can discuss what's in store for them. It doesn't matter that I'm younger than them.

We don't talk for awhile, till we're sure they're not coming back. "What are we going to do with them?" I sigh.

"We're going to try to bring them home."

"How can you do this? How can you even care about trying anymore?" I look up at him, feeling very tired.

"It's worth it when you bring one home," he reaches out and touches my hand. I feel myself holding on. He brought me home, even knowing what might happen to me.

"I don't know whether to thank you or kill you," I say honestly.

"I wonder the same thing everyday, and it's been…a very long time since I came home." So it doesn't get easier.

"They're okay. Stronger than the regular lot that usually die," I say off-handedly.

Blight laughs, "Did you know that besides for you, all of the winners but Katerina were orphans or living in the Community Center?"

Katerina, the girl he brought home who died. "I didn't," I can't help but smirk. So none of them had probably lost as much as me.

…

When I wake up after only three hours of sleep, I grab a hot cup of coffee and take it black while I think of what Blight and I had talked about. Eve we can play off as beautiful and reckless, and Caine can be a guardian of sorts. It seems he's made a name for himself sticking up for people. Now all we have to do is drill strategy into them. Blight has long since realized that the edible foods area is a good idea to what the arena will hold—something I hadn't realized.

It's not long before we make it off the train, and cameras are flashing in my face. I glare back at them and ignore them and they love me for it—because that's who I am. So I push and pull through the crowd until we get to the car. Caine and Eve are a little impressed with the ride, but both reserved. We make it into the Training Center where I hand them over to Verity—who'll make them trees like she does every year….Every single freaking year.

I leave them to her mercy and tell them I'll see them after the chariot rides, before I take an elevator down to the lobby with Blight—who's going to show me around. He shows me the lobby floor where there's an open area to sit in and relax—no one's there. Blight lets me know that that's typical—no one ever uses it. Most mentors are already in Control. We take a corridor they call "the tunnel" over to the room. There's an outside entrance to.

When we get in there, he leads me past Finnick. I try to break away from Blight but he leads me past, "You can talk to him later. This is more important." He pulls me over to a station. All the walls are made of concrete. The room is arranged in a circle. There's one station per district. The cubicle has two beds and two chairs in front of some machinery. "It's come along ways since I started doing this." But he shows me quickly how it works. There's a map of the arena—that'll come up when the games start that will show only where your tributes are. There will be an official list of the supplies they have, have found, or have been sent. Another list will show how their odds are listed as far as likeability and then survival.

Blight shows me how to bring up the funds account. He also told me not to even bother looking through the inventory of items that are available—because everything is available—you have to type in what you need or what you're trying to treat. "This year will be a good year, the amount of popularity you had will get us probably two gifts each for them this year even if no one likes them."

It seems like so little.


	51. Finnick's Problem

**ALMOST forgot to finish this and put it up, because I was tired. But I stayed up to finish it. It's a little dense with information. I do plan on writing these games later as I've said before. So I went ahead and named everyone-which took the LONGEST. Thanks to my friends Thalea, Volley, and Malhith/Lauren on Gaia. They helped me find some names I liked. Lauren is the queen of last names as you'll find out in _Districts of Hunge_r...or else everyone would be one word wonders. I hate finding last names.**

**Uhm...also, The Civil Wars. Go listen to them NOW! No excuses people!**

**Considering a one shot soon. I have a list, but I'm always open to suggestions.**

**Also if you're not reading Caisha702's _Unintended_...you should be ashamed of yourself! /shameless plugging. Seriously, she's one of the most fabulous writers ever and she's an absolute sweetheart. The story is absolutely amazing! As in her Freedom series.**

_**Where she walks, no flowers bloom**_  
><em><strong>He's the one I see right through<strong>_  
><em><strong>She's the absinthe on my lips<strong>_  
><em><strong>The splinter in my fingertip<strong>_

_**But who could do without you?**_  
><em><strong>And who could do without you?<strong>_  
><em><strong>She's the sea I'm sinkin' in<strong>_  
><em><strong>He's the ink under my skin<strong>_  
><em><strong>Sometimes I cain't tell where I am<strong>_  
><em><strong>Where I leave off and he begins<strong>_

_**But who could do without you?**_  
><em><strong>And who could do without you?<strong>_

_**Oh, we're a pretty, pretty pair**_  
><em><strong>Yes, we are<strong>_  
><em><strong>All, all the king's horses<strong>_  
><em><strong>And all of his men<strong>_  
><em><strong>Couldn't tear us apart<strong>_

_**Dancing with a ball and chain**_  
><em><strong>Through it all we still remain<strong>_  
><em><strong>Butterflies around the flame<strong>_  
><em><strong>Till ashes, ashes, we fade away<strong>_

_**Birds of a Feather, The Civil Wars**_

We spend at least an hour going over the area. Shifting the beds around so they're side by side—only one of us is going to be sleeping at a time. It seems most of the victors do it this way. In no time, it's more comfortable and more useable.

"That's it," Blight says lightly. "You can go—for the most part, where you want in the Capitol. But be careful and don't do anything stupid. If it even looks stupid, you'll be dead."

I smile at him, "You know me so well."

I barely make it around the corner when I find myself in Finnick's arms. He twirls me around and pulls me to him, which is surprising. His lips are close to my ear, barely audible, "We've got to talk." He puts me down gently and everyone is looking at us. "Come on, let's go." He snakes an arm around my waist and I can see the tiny creases between his eyes that means he's nervous. The way he keeps flexing his fingers is another sign I've come to know.

He leads me out the door into the bright light where the whole world is waiting on us, it feels. He flashes smiles and directs me, hailing a car that's at our disposal. Lights flash in our faces as we get in, people are going to be having a field day about Finnick and I. The though makes me laugh.

When we get out it's at the apartments, I remember that I have been in my apartment before—back after a night in the Capitol. When he asks, "My place or yours?" I shiver a little.

"Yours," I say. He leads me back up to his room and he pours a drink. "Fin-" he gives me that look that tells me to shut up.

He takes my hand and leads me to the shower. He strips down to his underwear and turns on the faucet and the shower. I take his lead and strip down to. Standing there in my underwear, I look at him wondering what the heck is going on. But before I can process anything, he grabs me and pulls me into the shower with him. The water goes over me and into my eyes and I sputter the water out and into his face. Then I feel his arms wrap tight around me and his lips are at my ears again. "I've got a problem, 'Anna."

I whisper back into his ear, "Yeah, you do. You just got me soaked. What's with the shower?"

"They can't hear us with all this water." That makes sense.

"What's the matter Finn?"

"You told me to go back to Snow, that it'd be enough. It's not." He's trembling and I can feel his head resting on my shoulder.

"What did he do?" I hiss. "Finn—what happened?" Then he tells me everything.

"There's this girl," he starts.

"How stupid, Fin…You know—"

"I know," the words come out tortured.

"Did he…"

"No, it's worse that that 'Anna. He had her reaped. She's here. She's here with me so I can watch her die. I never—never meant to love her. She crept up on me. We were friends a long time ago." He dissolves into sobs.

"Shhh…" I comfort him how I would comfort Sven or Greta. I can't yell at him or tell him he's stupid like I want, not when he's so broken right now. Finnick who's been so strong for me, who was going to fight the entire Capitol with me with an IV stand and a food tray. I just hold on to him while my brain tries to whirr into action. "What's her name?"

"Annie, Annie Cressida." His words spill out quickly, and only half audibly. He and she had known each other as kids, kind of. They'd had some of the same training classes as careers. They were never really close, but when he came back from the games—she saved him. He doesn't elaborate. He kept pushing her away, and she kept pushing him back. He told her there could only be pain if she knew him, but wanted to know him she did. They became friends, and eventually he fell in love with her. And by the time he knew it, Snow knew too. Going back to Snow hadn't done anything to save her, punishment would still happen. Maybe in time, he'd find someone else to love. But as Finnick held on to me, he let me know over and over again that he'd die without Annie. "I'll die without her. I shouldn't ask. It's not right, please…"

I know what he's asking, he's asking me to help him bring home Annie at the cost of my own tributes. But he's Finnick, and I won't say no. "I'll do everything I can, but if she…then maybe mine will."

"No, Johanna…she has to. Don't you think she can?" I run my hands through his hair again.

"I don't know. I need to see them all again." But we stand there until he cries himself out, then we get out and towel off. He tosses me some of his pajamas—more to add to my personal collection and we settle on to the couch.

He flips to a station and the reapings begin to play. There's District one with their blonde hair. She's got green eyes and he's got brown. Her name is Silk, which is quite fitting. Despite her heavy shoulders and strong jawline—she's beautiful. She looks like a Viking with her hair in two blonde braids, her arm muscles bulging. She's the largest female tribute I've ever seen at 6'1. They call him Glint. He's a bit leaner than her—perhaps because he's two inches taller. In a match between them, it'd be hard to bet on who'd win. They both seem quiet but there's something about their eyes that shows you how menacing they really are.

The girl from District two is called Amber. Her hair is almost white that it's so blonde. She's bronzed by the sun—chances are that's why her hair is so light, from being in the sun so long. She's tiny, only about 5'6 maybe. But when she backhands another girl twice her size to make it to the stage, there's no doubt who'll be the leader of the careers. She's vicious. Her teeth are parted half-smiling, half-grimacing. Her eyes are black, and she looks absolutely crazy as she stands there. The boy—Lux is another blonde. He seems charming and nice oddly enough. His eyes are a bright, amazing blue that cuts into you with it's intensity. He's lean, much leaner than the rest but still muscled and easily at 6'5 or 6'6. But the way he lets Amber push him around shows even more so that she's the real one to worry about.

District three passes by in a blurr. Oyxide and Atom are unimpressive sallow-skinned kids. They'll be gone in the blood bath. I kind of feel sorry for how terrified they look.

Then this is it, my glimpse at her. Unlike the other two career districts—hardly anyone volunteers in District four. They train for the games, but they don't volunteer but rarely. Once every few years there'll be a volunteer—but not often. That's why Finnick was in the games, he was reaped and no one volunteered. The girl's name is called. I know which one is her instantly. She's about sixteen or seventeen—about 5'8 with a swimmer's body but a bit more curve. She walks gracefully, as if she's flowing. Her hair is black and is in long waves down her back. She's absolutely gorgeous, not like District one or the Capitol—but just naturally beautiful. Her skin is tinted by the sun, and her sea green eyes are just as bright and beautiful of a sea green as Finnick's. It's so weird to see them on anyone else's face. But there's no denying the wild beauty of her as she marches forward without a tear, or one look of anxiety. Her face is perfectly smooth and calm—not like a mask, more like acceptance. She most love him a lot. I know that look, it says I will do anything for you—I will die for you. I'd seen it on Liam's face enough times when he looked at Mara. I slip my hand over into Finnick's. He clings to me as if he's going to drown.

She makes the top of the stage and shakes everyone's hand. I can see the fear in Finnick's eyes, I see his fingers twitch. I know what that means, because I do the same thing—but instead it's when I'm mad rather than nervous. He's wanting his trident—just like when I want my axe. But Annie smiles politely, coolly and stand beside him just watching.

A boy is called, Alexion—he's only thirteen or fourteen. Before he can take a step, a boy has volunteered-Triton Richter. He's tall, not nearly as tall as Finnick though. He's thin—a swimmer's body it's called. But he's got strength. I can see Annie bite her lip as he reaches the stage. Finnick's voice comes from beside me, that same tortured tone, "He's her friend."

"Why'd he volunteer?"

"He said he was going to make sure she came home," Finnick covers his eyes when the words have left his mouth. I feel something choking me a little. It reminds me of Wren who wanted to protect me. Why though? Didn't they know this was the Hunger Games? Why were they choosing to be killed? But that's not a fair question, I know that when I look over at Finnick whose shoulders are hunched against the world. I pull him closer to me. If Finnick and I were in the arena together, I'd die to bring him home—so I understand.

District five—Poppy and Vernon make no impression. The same can be said of Keely and Joshua from District six. I have to look away when I see Eve and Caine coming up from my District. If Annie comes home to him, they're going to die…and they have a chance. I'll do everything I can to help Finnick bring Annie back, but if she can't…then one of them are coming back. I know at some point I might have to choose. I just hope not. I just hope fate will take care of it. The odds are in my favor right?

District eight has Plait and Emboss. Plait has brown hair, and dark skin. There's something about her that I file away. There's something about her that says don't count me out. Nine has Meadow and Keegan. Keegan looks like he could easily fit in with the careers. I have no doubt that they'll invite him in as long as he'll listen to them. District ten has Aimee and Henry who look like a strong wind could knock them over. District eleven has a strong pair—Vane and Logan. Both with dark hair and eyes, Vane is sun tanned just barely, her skin still has pink tones from sunburn. Logan is dark, very dark. District twelve has Astrid and Cole. Astrid looks like she's about to die of…something right on stage. Cole though appears to be typical—not too messed up like most of their tributes. The announcers say he might do reasonably well and that he reminds them of a young Haymitch Abernathy. He reminds them of a young drunk? That's lovely to think about…Even I know about Haymitch's drinking problem.

I flip off the television and Finnick looks over at me. "Do you think she has a chance?"

Honestly, I don't know. She's definitely got a chance. I go over my assessment's with him outloud and he just nods his head. "She's got a chance Finn, a strong chance. And if we can get rid of Amber…she's got a great chance. But she's got something most of the other tributes don't have."

"What?" He asks with a bit of confusion.

"She's beautiful," I start but he cuts me off.

Finnick leaps up and paces with his hands pulling at his hair, "We both know what happens to beautiful people in the Capitol, Johanna…" He looks at me with those wretched eyes.

I move over to him, "But she's got you and me. And she's beautiful. Everyone will want to support her, everyone will love her. She's going to come home." I say it with much more faith than I have.

He falls into my arms, he believes me. I cling to him, and I realize how dangerous this game is we're playing. I'll help him at any cost—and he'll do the same for me. Nothing will tear us apart even if we have to fight the world with an IV stand and a food tray. So even if I don't know Annie, even if I'm jealous that he'll have someone left to love (because we don't count), he needs her like air. If she doesn't come home…I'm not sure how much of Finnick will be left. And some selfish part of me can't live without my friend.


	52. Annie

__**Next update either Wednesday or Thursday. **

_**You are the reason why even at the saddest part of my life, I smile.**_

_**Even at confusion, I understand. **__**Even in betrayal, I trust. Even in fear of pain, I love****.**_

_**Unknown**_

We stay away from the tribute madness at Finnick's apartment for a few hours. Finally, we slip back into our outside clothes and head out. Finnick has that controlled mask back on, his fingers moving soundlessly still. I, on the other hand, greet the press that bothers us as we walk with an angry glare. I don't have to pretend. I hate the Capitol, I hate what they're doing to Finnick. I hate that it might come down to me choosing between my tributes and his happiness. It's not right. But we walk with his arm around my waist back to the Training Center. The press is eating it up, of course. I can see the headlines now. Victor finds loves with another Victor? Some kind of fodder like that.

The truth is the more press we garner, the better are tributes will do. So I stare back at them in anger while Finnick looks pleased. I imagine we'll be the talk of the town by midnight.

When we slip into the Training Center we take the hall over to Control Room. I access our account and see that my tributes have already gotten a good deal of funds. Blight and I will have to decide who it goes to, or would if they were splitting up. I shut the account back down and look at Finnick, "So how do we get more?" I cross my arms and look at him.

"How do you think?" He says tiredly.

I can feel my chest heaving with rage. Angry words are about to come out of my mouth, but instead I wind up choking on them. Finnick follows my eyes. There's a tall blonde girl with beautiful ringlets of curls down her back. But it's not her back that's stunned me, it's when she turned around. Her belly is swollen and huge, she's got to be due any day now. Her face is puffy and she looks miserable.

I want to reach out and touch the wall to support myself. I didn't expect to see someone else pregnant. I didn't expect to feel all of the pain of having lost my baby and all the envy of this girl with her child still safe in her stomach. My words are biting, "Would have thought a knocked up tribute would get more news. She doesn't even look happy she's having a kid. Great mother she'll be."

Finnick puts his hand back on my arm as we turn away. "She doesn't get to keep it."

"Why should I care?" I shoot back.

Finnick tilts my face to look up into his, "The baby is from a…friend in the Capitol. She's been here the entire pregnancy to be watched. The baby has an adoptive family waiting for it."

I shut my eyes so I don't have to look at him and turn away. I had considered letting that happen to my child to save it. But really in the end, was it better? A kid to be raised by these stupid Capitolites? Was that really a better life? I keep telling myself that it's better my daughter is dead. "Let's get something to eat, Fin. I'm starved." I head towards the door and the girl looks up at me. I recognize her as Cashmere Rasmussen. She won the 66th games and her brother Gloss won the year after her. She looks like she's been crying, but when our eyes connect I know she knows about what happened to me. They probably all do. I know what she's thinking too. She's jealous of me like I'm jealous of her. Her child will be safe even if it's not with her, but my child is gone—a different kind of safe.

….

Finnick takes me to his floor to eat. His floor is the exact same as my floor, except for the general theme of blue. He leads me to the table where there are four people already sitting down. There's an older woman that has a cane, and looks like she could be blown over by the wind she's so frail. She's got clear green eyes though that assess me quickly before looking away as she gives me a gum-toothed smile. There's a girl with strawberry blonde hair who seems to be a few years older than Finnick. She looks tired, and there's a large scar across her face that pulls up at the corner of her mouth permanently. She would have been beautiful once. There's another man in his forties or so with black hair, he's missing an ear but that seems to be the worse of his problems. Other than that, he looks completely normal. They each look at me and then go on about their business.

"This is Mags," he points toward the older woman, "Coral," he points toward the other woman, "And this," he points toward the other man. "This is Garrett." They each nod their head as he introduces them. "This is—"

Coral interrupts by slinging her plate at me. With reflexes honed by the arena, I dive into a roll to the side. I stay crouched there as she slides across the table knocking plates around. She lands on her feet in front of me and throws up a leg to kick me. I twist slightly and catch it under my armpit. I sling out my leg and knock her off her feet while I hold the other one still up in the air. As soon as she hits the ground, I wrench her leg hard to the left until I hear the knee make a cracking sound before I jump on to her. My hands find a weapon and I hold it above her. Her fingers are almost touching a knife to the right, her face screwed up in pain. "Johanna Mason." She laughs, the twist of her scar pulling her face even more grotesquely. "Going to kill me with a fork?"

My fingers don't falter or halt as I plunge the fork into her shoulder. She gives off a scream as I stand up and back away, "I could kill you with a fork before you'd ever touch me with your blade." I stand there, glaring down at her—the fork dripping with her blood. "Got it?" She just grimaces at me, I take that as assent. "You're getting old, little out of shape scarface."

Finnick has to stop the fight from starting up again. She's yowling in pain and I'm eager to get back at her. "Stop!" Finnick pushes me in the chest firmly, knocking me back a few feet. "It's enough."

Mags hits her cane on the floor and Coral backs off. Her face is a mask of rage, but she limps off to her room. I watch her go, holding on to my fork until Finnick pries it from my fingers. "I'm sorry about her."

"What's her problem?" I almost growl it.

"She's…volatile," Garrett answers. "She's been that way since she came back from the arena. If she perceives you as a threat, she's just a likely to attack as not. It's getting better."

"Nutcase," I murmur under my breath. I wasn't that far away from it though. In another ten years, I could be her.

…

We eat and the food is similar but richer than District Four meals Finnick says. Finnick and I talk about everything except what we talked about until the subject we want to talk about walks in. Triton walks in silently behind Annie. It's obvious they've been arguing. Her face is smooth, but his is flushed. Her eyes glance over at me and Finnick introduces her in what's a casuaul manner—to anyone who doesn't know Finnick. "This is Annie Cresta and Triton Richter."

Before he can introduce me Annie tilts her head to look at me. "Johanna Mason," she says it. Her voice is sweet and soothing. She reaches out her hand to me, bronzed by the sun but not smooth like you'd imagine. Her hands are calloused from long days of working, of training. "I've heard all about you." If anyone else had say that I'd probably have punched them for a double meaning, but her eyes are clear and her smile sincere. It says that it's Finnick that has told her all about me.

I shake her hand, "Well, it's all true and more." I let got of her hand and shake Triton's.

"What are you doing on our floor?" He seems curious.

I look into his eyes for a long moment, this is the boy who came to die for Annie. What is his motivation? Does it even matter? "Scoping out the competition," I laugh.

The more I talk with them, the more I like them both—which is dangerous. But I can see why Finnick is in love with her. She's beautiful and intelligent. She's charming and sweet, but underneath it all I see a calm acceptance. She has accepted everything about Finnick and about me. She's accepted her fate, her eyes look at him often and when she looks at me I know she's telling me too. I don't regret any of this. I would love him just the same.

The finish their meal quickly before going back to their stylists. Annie says she'll show me the way out, quite pointedly. I go with her and she stops and waits till Triton goes back into his room. "I wish he hadn't done this." I see her face looking at me sadly. "It would be easier to try if he hadn't."

"It'd be easier if all the tributes would pull out their weapons and fall on them for you," I lean against the wall.

She grimaces, "If only we could convince them. Maybe if I had your charm, Johanna." The sound of her laughter peals in the halls.

I lean close until I'm in her face, and I'm only a tad taller than her. "Unless you get your hands dirty, you're going to break his heart."

I see the tears on her lashes, "It's breaking my heart knowing what he'll be going through while I'm in there." She puts her hands on my shoulders, her head proud and high. "Be there for him, no matter what happens." Her sea green eyes look into mine and it's like looking into Finnick's. This is between us—Annie and I. She'll fight to come home and I'll help as best I can. But if she should fail, then I can't. It'll be my job to take care of him.

"Always. You don't even have to ask."


	53. Happy Little Family

**You are cordially invited to attend the 70th Hunger Games this Saturday. Until then-**

_** And thus I clothe my naked villainy / With old odd ends stolen forth from holy writ/And seem a saint when most I play the devil. **_  
><em><strong> Shakespeare's Richard III, Act I Scene 3<strong>_

The elevator doors open on my floor and I had to my room despite Blight trying to flag me down. He knocks and knocks but I ignore him. I pace up and down the room, running my fingers through my short hair as I pace again and again. What am I going to do? What am I going to do?

But it's stupid to ask myself that, I've already decided. The real problem is can I live with it? I don't know if I can or not, but I'll have to deal with it either way. You lose something in the arena, all of your humanity—all of, just everything. But now Finnick had a chance at a real life—or at least a life with someone he loves. If she wins the games, they'll be free to be with each other in their District. They'll be as safe as two people can be in this world.

So the decision is made, all that's left is the planning. Obviously, it's not like I can fund her—that won't do much good anyways. District Four always gets more sponsors than seven so I can't help with money. I can't have my tributes pair up with the careers. What I can do is watch and wait. I'll get my tributes as far as I can then will be the hard part, if Annie makes it then I might have to withhold help, even clue Finnick in to how to beat them. But if she fails…then I can bring one of mine home. So I just have to watch and wait, it's the only plan I've got.

I stand up and there's another knock at my door. I compose myself and open it to find Verity there. "I've come to fix you up for tonight," she says. I don't protest. I let her put on my make-up and get me into my skintight white dress. At the bottom there's a splay of red jewels that is splattered like blood. That's Verity for you though, not too subtle.

She releases me, knowing my patience is almost gone. The stilettos click on the floor as I walk out to find Blight waiting for me. He looks exhausted as I fix the lace on my shoe, "We're going to hit the spots tomorrow."

"The spots?" I wrinkle my face at him.

"All the usual spots to get sponsors. Some will come to us, but we've got some parties to go to. Obviously, you're more popular than I am. There's a lot of invitations this year. The more we get to during the next three days, the more money we'll get for them."

"How many parties?"

"At least twenty invitations."

I sigh, as we go in to see our tributes. The things we'll have to go through to try to help them. I know parties aren't the worst, but it is the Capitol…so they're not exactly pleasant.

When I see our tributes, I'm surprised that Eve is being completely compliant. She has a very tight bra and underwear on, coloured to perfectly match her skin. There's vines wrapped around her breasts, and all the other parts that need to be covered. At least Verity doesn't let her be nearly naked—she just lets her have the illusion of it. Caine is done up similarly, except in a leaf-like kilt. Both of their skin is coated in oil to make their skin bright and luscious. Eve's faces is made up with elaborate greens and browns, her arms tattooed with leaves.

Eve is polite enough to wait until Verity is out of the room before she whispers urgently, "I'm supposed to wear this?" She gestures at it in exasperation.

"You are," I can't help but smile. "It could be worse," I say it softer. "Other stylists wouldn't give you a suit to wear under it." I move a leaf from her face, where they hang loosely in her hair. "She's making them want you. Remember, you want them to want you."

"You didn't," Caine says with his arms crossed.

I smooth Eve's hair again before turning to him. "And I didn't want a partner in the arena. You're not me." I adjust the laurel of leaves on his head. "In the end you'll have to decide, and I didn't want to do that. But I had to kill him anyways."

He starts to say something, but I don't hear him because I'm walking away.

…

The chariot rides prove to go well. Our tributes are desirable, and their costumes appeals to the baser natures of the Capitol citizens. I play up my vulgar and angry nature to those I meet. I even close a few deals on sponsorships. That's when I take a deep breath and dive in, I'm invited to four parties tonight alone. They want to see me, so I send Blight back with the tributes.

I make my rounds, and after each party there's another one. I dance, I flirt, I make innuendo that I don't mean. The world spins, and my feet ache. By the time that the elevator opens on our floor, I've got my shoes in my hand. My eyes are squinting against the sleep that's threatening to descend on me. I've had too much to drink, so I go to the breakfast table and sit down. I have a plate full of biscuits and gravy and I'm on my second cup of coffee when the tributes show up.

"You look like hell," Eve offers as she sits down in her training uniform.

"Well, what'd you expect. Gotta work awful hard to get such unappealing tributes like you sponsors." I lean my head on the table.

"That's kind of a weak retort for the great Johanna Mason," Caine laughs—too loudly for my head.

"Yeah, I'm tired." I rub my head lightly and struggle to my feet.

"Where are you going?" Eve asks.

"To bed. Blight will take care of you. I've got at least ten parties to go to tonight to try to get you sponsors."

"Really?" Caine questions.

"Really. Even in the Capitol money doesn't grow on trees." I look at him long and hard. "Don't worry kid, I'm doing good for you."

"We know," Eve says lightly. "Thank you." Before I can stop her, she throws her arms around me and Caine follows suit. It feels odd to be held by them and thanked when I might have to let them die in a few days. But I push it from my mind and I find that I'm subconsciously hugging them back.

"Yeah, yeah. Bed or I won't be doing anyone any good."

…

Nightmares always surprise you, even when they're expected. I wake up drenched in sweat only to fall back under in exhaustion. But there's no use trying to fight it…It just happens no matter what.

By the time I get up, it's late afternoon. I put on one of Finnick's pajama shirts and I walk down the hall with nothing else. They've all just sat down for dinner when I walk in. Caine blushes but continues to stare at me. Eve's mouth falls open. "Did you forget something Johanna?"

"No. I did not. If you're talking about pants, just say it. I don't wear them and you can't make me," I sit down and pour a glass of water. I drain a whole glass and then pour another. Their both gawking at me, "Close your mouths, you look likes fish or tributes from four. How was training?"

It's like being young again. I can imagine that Liam and I are telling mom what our day was like at school. They're telling us the things they've learned. Eve's very perceptive of people—of how they'll react mentally, but Caine can gauge physical weaknesses. It doesn't take long for me to realize it. Before long, I have them discussing tributes in length. By the end of the night, they'll know most of the competitions weaknesses physically and mentally.

They wish me goodnight as I prepare for another round of parties. The next two days go by the same. Except that when I wake up on the third day, I don't have to go anywhere till after the announcements. We sit together and Eve and Caine sit there beside each other. They're much too friendly for my own liking—just friends, but still one of them will have to die.

The scores go up. District One's Silk and Glint get twin eights. District Two's Lux gets a nine, but it's Amber who gets the earth-shattering eleven. District Four's Triton gets a ten and Annie gets a nine. It's time for the moment of truth, Eve and Cain earn and eight an nine. District Eight's Plait gets a six, but District Nine's Keegan gets an seven. District Eleven's Vane and Logan get a five and seven. And finally, District Twelve's Cole gets a six.

We celebrate their eights until I have to leave. They wish me luck and say they'll miss me until I'm back. I tell Blight the kids can stay up past bedtime tonight. His laugh echoes as I leave. As the elevator descends and I adjust my aching feet in my shoes, I try to pull myself together. I need to stop playing house with these kids, because pretty soon I'm going to be mourning at least one of their deaths. This isn't a happy family even if we play make-believe like it is.

…

I'm exhausted and hell is just beginning. There's no more parties now. Our tributes are dressed up and they're on stage. Everyone plays their roles beautifully; as if they're lives depend on it—because they do. Eve comes off reckless and beautiful; it's a bit unnerving how well she plays it off. Caine is the protector. The rest aren't really important. There's no real reason for me to pay attention to them. They're all just a face they put on for the Capitol.

When we're back in our rooms, we sit with Eve and Caine and sip hot chocolate. It's Eve that breaks the silence, she's looking over at Caine. "Remember what we promised?"

"Yes," he's looking at her. "If it's you, you'll make sure Flora's okay. If it's me, I'll make sure Acanthus is."

She grips his hand, "We stick together even if we have to kill each other. We protect the ones at home."

He holds on to her too, "We meet at the Cornocopia." They look at each other in that easy companionship. They're both trusting of each other, both accepting of their roles. They know they might have to die, might even be killed by each other—but it's not personal, at least not for them.

Blight and I give them some last words of advice, "We won't see you in the morning." I say as I look at them feeling more emotional than I want to admit. "Remember—"

"Don't sleep at the same time."

"Ration your water."

They both smile at me since I've drilled it in their heads so much. "But most of all remember, you can make a weapon out of anything." I can't conceal my smile, "Even a fork." They don't know what I'm talking about so they only smile confusedly.

Blight hugs them both, "See you on the other side."

Eve swallows hard, "Thank you both, for everything."

"Thanks," Caine echoes.

"I'm sorry," it's all I get out. I know they think it means I'm sorry for them to be there, and I am. But I'm sorry that they'll have to die so that Annie can come home, so that Finnick can't become anymore damaged.

Then they've slipped away for the last time. The next time I'll see them is on screen. The next time I see them in person, at least one of them will be cold and still as I watch them nail the coffin over their head.


	54. On the Screen

_Districts of Hunger has a teaser up to hold you until the 18th when it really begins. It's on my profile, check it out! (and subscribe XD) I promise there's a lot more to come with chapters being about 3,000 words long each._

_Speaking of which, I'm writing a story about Annie and Finnick sometime in the future-this is from Johanna's POV so there's not as much just Annie time in this story since Johanna's watching it all._

_Next update will be Monday or Tuesday!_

_**Most games are lost, not won.**_  
><em><strong>Casey Stengel<strong>_

Blight and I sit there for a long time without talking. We should go to bed. We'll need to be up in a few hours and sharp to take care of our tributes, but I just…can't sleep. I wonder what Finnick is doing? Is he sleeping? Is he breaking through the thin veneer and holding Annie instead of trying to hide it? We all know he loves her so I hope he's holding her. If this ends badly, I don't want him to remember he pushed her away on their last night together to protect her.

I'm terrified of the dreams, so I sit there with my hand nearly touching my lips and staring in the distance. There's no conscious thought, I'm just coiled tightly like a spring about to pop. I can feel the acid in my stomach churning, the anxiety welling up inside of me. I wish it was over already.

…

I don't know how I slept at all. What's more surprising is that I didn't dream, at least not anything I remember. Maybe even my mind realizes that the nightmare is the waking and not the sleeping? I get up off the couch and struggle to my feet. Making my way to my room, I see the doors to the elevators closing—Caine and Eve wave at me before they disappear. I can feel my heart thudding. I remember that ascent into hell.

Everything seems so sure before you head there. You're sure of living or dying—it's got to be one or the other. But it's not. Things aren't that simple. Emotions are messy. Instead of being heartless, even if you appear so, there's something going on inside of you. There's pity, there's rage, and there's friendship and hate. Sometimes, I've heard, there's even love. But none of it survives in the arena except mercy and vengeance.

I get in my room and shower and change before heading back out to find Blight. He forces me to eat before we head down to Control. The eggs in my stomach are churning, and I'm afraid I'm going to be sick. I take a deep breath as we step off the elevator. My face is firmly set into the lines of indifference as I push my way in. I can't break character.

When we walk in, I'm astounded to see that a lot of people are there already. There's Finnick and the group from Four. There's Haymitch from twelve that I know. I recognize Enobaria and Phillipe from two. Blight lets me know there's two others who aren't here yet—Braje and Tomas. District one has Gloss and Bethel, unofficially Cashemere too. She won't be able to be seen on screen. All of the rest muster at least two victors, but I don't really pay attention to their names. I'm eager to get to my station.

I settle into my chair and turn on the screen. I hurriedly check the account for money, and I can't believe my eyes. It's not as much as the careers probably get, but it's impressive for us. And to think, it'll all be for waste. I square my shoulders and Blight kisses the top of my head, "Well done, Johanna."

"It won't ever be enough," I take the cup of coffee he gives me. It's so hot it scalds me, but I keep drinking it. "How long?"

"An hour," he says.

I sit there and stare at the screen. "When does it come on?"

"About five minutes before they come up."

I feel the acid in my stomach burning. I hear the laughing and talking of the other victors. I don't know how they can be so calm right now. We're about to relive the games.

…

Finally, everyone falls silent. The screen in the center of the room, where all the cubicles face lights up and introduces the game. It's where all the main views are—like we're watching on television, the only individual and constant views of tributes are on our screens for our own tributes. On the desk is the funds and equipment screen—one for each of us, and then a screen that follows each of District Seven's tributes.

Claudius Templesmith's voice booms out from the center screen as gold letters appear on the black screen—The 70th Annual Hunger Games. "Welcome to the Hunger Games. This year promises to be absolutely amazing as far as contenders and this year promises to be one of our most amazing arenas yet!" The camera shows the arena from above, then from several different views all at once. It's overwhelming. Last year had been a rather normal year, but this year—they'd definitely decided to shake things up. The whole area was tropical. The whole place was hot and humid looking. It'd be easy to die from any wound, infection would be so easy in even the simplest cut. That's probably the plan though, you can't help a cut.

There's a ruckus a few feet away. Haymitch is cursing, and he's popping open another bottle to drink. Blight leans in close, "It's a lot like his arena." I look at Haymitch with a new found pity.

There's water dripping from the leaves in the jungle. There's a large dammed up lake, a volacano, footbridges across crevasses a mile deep, and then there's the creatures. Even I am in disbelief, "Is that a dinosaur?" It's unnecessary to ask though. It's clear what it is, I think it's called a T-Rex. I find my hands reaching for an axe that isn't there. I've got to pull it together. I lean back in the chair and listen as Claudius goes on and on about the arena and how long it's taken to build. Blah blah blah. But…dinosaurs?

Then it's the moment we've all waited for. The screen goes black again, and all you can hear is breathing. It's like a thousand different people struggling for air, it makes me feel like I can't breathe. It's then I realize that they're using the breathing of all the tributes as they come out of the launch area to make the sound. Twenty-four people breathing, twenty-three of them's breath is numbered.

The camera's focus in on each face, one at a time. They're uniforms are a camoflauge of bright greens. There's gloves, boots, thick jackets, and coats despite the heat. The career's are tensed and ready. There's Annie, her hair pulled into a low ponytail, the wild waves falling down her back wit her lips slightly parted. I notice her fingers do the same thing as Finnick when he's nervous. I wonder if she picked it up from him or was it the other way around?

Triton's completely calm. It's eerie. But it was part of his act, calm and observant—never brash and always laid back. Amber's practically twitching to get off the plate. I look away from all of them, and focus on the screens that show Eve and Caine. There they are, both collected if slightly nervous. Their stances are ready, arms loose at their sides. They've already identified each other across the way, they're almost directly across from each other. We'd discussed whether they should go to the Cornucopia or not. I told them finally, after we'd went back and forth about it that it'd be best to wait and see. With terrain like this, they'd not make it far without supplies. But they're from the Community Center, if there's one thing kids there are known for—it's running fast.

When the gong sounds, I'm not ready. They're off running hard and fast. A girl—I think from five—falls. I focus in on Eve and Caine, she's amazingly fast. She reaches the Cornucopia only seconds before Amber. There's a grapple, and my heart thuds as I see Amber reaching for a blade a few inches away, but it's Caine that hits her hard. Amber's stunned when his fist connects since he hit her from the back. Eve's got her hands on an axe and two bags and a knife. When Caine turns, he grabs up another axe as she passes him one of the backpacks and they're off running as the fighting at the Cornocopia begins. Amber's fingers curl around the knife, and she makes it to her knees to throw. Eve and Caine are running beside each other towards the woods. I see the knife embed into the strap of Eve's backpack. I can't tell how deep it is. My eyes flick down to their screen, and I watch them pull together—grasping a hold of each other's hands so they don't lose each other in the jungle as they run deeper in.

Annie and Triton are back to back. Annie has a spear that she wields strangely well. She blocks and thrusts with it, short dagger in her other hand. She's faced off with Cole from twelve. He's matching her blow for blow, even though he's inferior to her. But after a few more minutes, she dispatches him easy. Her dagger twists in his leg. There's a grimace on his face, as he falls to his knees. Her dagger cuts across his throat and he falls over. There's a look of relief on her face as the flecks of blood appear as the screen zooms in on a close up of her face. There's small ringlets curling down around her damp forehead—and then she's fighting again.

Triton moves swiftly with his sword. He appears expert at it—which is surprising as district four is known for their tridents and spears. Amber is slicing and dicing and spinning. It's hard to distinguish them all amidst the chaos. I'm glad Eve and Caine are safely away.

By the time things settle down, there's pools of blood and a severed limb lying on the ground. Nine dead. Both from three, the male from five, both from six, male from eight, female from nine, and both from twelve. The careers all made it through, unscathed and with them their chosen ally Keegan from nine.

I notice that the mentors from three and six leave. They've got no one left to watch over. I look to see if Haymitch is here still, but he's gone. Blight tells me he left as soon as the boy was killed since the girl died long before him. I can't imagine how he feels back in twelve, the only victor…I'd have lost what's left of my sanity without the other victors. I hate to admit it, but the thought that they're old and will leave me sooner than later is a worry I've felt often lately.

Amber takes the lead, kicking the male from eight's limb out of the way. The food is divided up swiftly while Annie and Keegan keep watch. Each of them have a bag, and a arsenal of weapons before the cannons start booming. Nine loud booms, and then silence is in the arena.

Amber looks over them, "So we got two choices. We can keep the supplies here under guard while we hunt, or we can take it to them. But we don't know what's out there and where we'll get stuck."

Triton hefts his shoulders into the bag, "We should take it with us. It won't be safe to leave it here, even under guard with whatever is lurking out there." The others agree, and they begin to hunt. It's apparent right away that Amber has accepted Triton as being the closest in skill to her. It's obvious who's she's allowing to be second in-command.

After another hour, Eve and Caine have stopped running. Their clothes are drenched with sweat when they stop. Caine has her turn around before he inspects the knife wound. It's stuck through the strap of her backpack, and through the jacket into her arm.

"Hold still," Caine pulls it out slowly while she grimaces, then carefully she removes the backpack and jacket. The back of her tannish tank top is torn and stained with blood. When she pulls it to the side, there's a gash hallowed out about two inches long from where the knife had moved while she was running. "Doesn't look too bad," Caine tries to catch his breath still tired from running.

"Let's see if there's anything for it. Stings like the dickens," she smiles at him. "Thank you Caine."

"For punching Amber?" He smirks, "Believe me it was my pleasure." They both laugh and it's a strange sound in the arena as they dig through their bags and find a small medical kit. There's some antibacterial cream there, bandages, basic first aid stuff. With a push of a button, I send them one of the cheapest and most helpful things—a needle and thread.

Eve catches the parachute and opens, "I think Johanna wants you to sew me up."

Caine rolls his eyes, "Just great." They're smart though. He gets his back up against the tree while she stands in front of so he can put in the stitches—not trusting that they're safe. She keeps here eyes open and watching as he cleans it, puts the antibiotic on it, and stitches it up. I rub the scar on the side of my hand, remembering what it was like to do that.

She winces some but she takes it pretty well, "I'm glad it's you and not me. I don't like needles. Blood, I can handle, but needles. Bleck." She shakes her head lightly causing the dripping wet hair to fall loose from her bun.

But they don't stay still for long after she's bandaged. Eve swiftly shimmies up a large tree with Caine right behind her. You can tell by the skill with which she moves that she was one of the ones that climbed up high to do repairs or lightening watch or to cut up the top of a tree if needed. Caine is heavier, but he moves relatively fast. When they get to two close branches, the settle in about thirty feet off the ground and take inventory of the rest of their bags. Four bottles of water, two medical kits, jerky, and two loves of bread. "This won't last long in the heat," Caine says as he turns over a loaf.

"We'll eat it during the recap, a whole loaf. No sense letting it mold." He nods in agreement as they rest for and drink a bottle between them. They snack on some of the bread before moving on. They move around to the right so that they're not heading in the direction they were last seen, a good counter-measure so they're not tracked as easily. They move well together. Eve pushing through the undergrowth—hacking if need be, while Caine walks half-facing the back. One look at the screen and I can see their betting odds have gone up significantly, they're ranked right in the middle of the careers.

They don't come up on anyone for the rest of the day—the careers or Eve and Caine. There's plenty of noise in the jungle though, including a terrifying scream that seems to hang in the air for hours after it's gone and the cannon booms. The male from ten wound up being dino chow, tough way to go. Though it's evident that the dinosaur is really just a muttation, a highly evolved and more terrifying form of dinosaur really.

It's past dark when the careers camp near some water. They build a small fire and then camp fifteen feet further back in the shadows with at least two guards on duty at all times. The first shift falls to Annie and Triton, it's not late enough in the game for there to be any distrust of each other yet.

The nightly announcement begins before the careers decide to turn in and leave Annie and Triton to watch. Eve and Caine are still walking, exhausted and dripping in sweat with another bottle down when they pause to watch. The ten faces go up in the sky, there's only fourteen left.


	55. Night Confessions

**Forgive me for the things that are to come in the next few chapters. **

**_If you could envision_**  
><strong><em> The meaning of a tragedy <em>**  
><strong><em> Ooooooh<em>**  
><strong><em> You might be surprised to hear it's you and me<em>**

**_Tragedy, Christina Perri_**

Blight comes back from his break and lays a hand on my shoulder. "Go up to the rooms Johanna, and rest. There's nothing you can do right now. Everyone's settling in," he says calmly.

"Not yet," my eyes watch Eve and Caine move on. They're use to being on their feet, but they're exhausted. It pays off though, all the walking as they come on water fifteen minutes later. Eve puts her hand over the water to check for heat then takes a sniff before standing up.

"It seems fresh," they take out the two empty bottles and fill them, putting the iodine in to purify it. They sit there on their haunches eyes darting around as they empty another bottle then fill it to purify to.

Caine straightens up and looks around, "We should stay close to the water tonight."

"What about the others?" Eve stands up wiping one hand off while she switches the axe to the other hand.

"Let them come, we're strong enough. If they want the water they'll have to fight us for it. Except—"

"If it's the careers, we'll back away," she finishes. They move to a tree that's huge. She shimmies up first, her tired muscles barely slowing her. He's right behind her. She takes an upper branch that's about three feet higher and to the right than his. They munch on their bread and talk in low whispers.

Eve tears the hunk of bread in half and passes it down to him, "What's it like to be in love?"

Caine finishes his mouthful, "It's nice. It feels like you're happy even when everything is going wrong. A touch from them makes the worse day a lot better. I could—would go to the ends of the earth for her. Nothing is too great because I love her." He pauses for a minute. Somewhere out there, his girl is blushing. "What about you? Ever been in love? What's it like having family?"

Eve takes a sip of water, "Never been in love. Always figured there'd be time when I was older and…safe." She falls silent for a minute, "It's the same way that you described being in love, except nothing's romantic about it. I love Acanthus so much sometimes that I hate him."

"Because it doesn't feel right to love anything in the world that much?" Caine questions with a smile.

"Exactly," Eve sighs. "But I love him when he hates me, and I love him when I hate him. He can be the most annoying person in the world to me and still be worth dying for."

"You're right. It is the same really aside from the romantic feelings." He finishes off the last bit of his bread, "I'll take first watch Eve, I'll wake you half-way."

"Okay," they fall silent as she uses her jacket to tie herself on the tree and buries her axe into the wood of the branch she has her legs wrapped around just enough so that it won't fall.

The screen goes to Annie and Triton who are standing there watching while the others sleep. "Why?" Her voice is soft as she looks over at him.

"Why what?" Triton counters as he shifts his weight.

"Why'd you volunteer?" Her eyes dart from shadow to shadow watchfully.

Triton tilts his head towards the others, it's clear he's saying we can't talk about it here. I don't think he plans on answering—the audience will never know. "For fame and fortune Annie, so finally we can see which of us is the best." His eyes bore into hers.

She stares right back, her lips pursed in thought. "We already know the answer to that." She turns away a moment to look in another direction,

They're silent so I get up, and bid Blight goodnight determined to go try to catch a few hours sleep. He promises to call me if anything happens, but the truth is they should be safe at least for a few days. I move over to district four's station and find Finnick sitting there staring at Annie with his hand up to his mouth and the other hand hanging down while he flexes his fingers. Garrett is begging him to go rest, but Finnick is non-responsive.

"Do you remember," Triton begins. The pair of sea green eyes in the arena float over to him before looking back away. "It was cold out, and you went down to the water. I told you that you were crazy, but you said you felt like you were being called to it. Do you remember what happened?"

Annie's lips spread into a small smile as her cheeks flush, "Yes…" she lets out a breathy whisper.

"You reeled something in that day. A fine catch, one you'd never have gotten if you didn't listen to yourself," his muscles move and reflect in the firelight.

"I did," her eyes are distant. It's clear to me that she's not talking about fish at all. When I look down, I see that Finnick's hand is reaching toward the screen and that tells me everything I need to know. He said, she'd saved him once—and now I know what he meant. Her sea green eyes turn, and somehow—it can't be an accident—she's looking into the screen. Their clear, bright and beautiful, even I feel lost in their depths. Anyone watching this would think they were Finnick's eyes.

I place my hand on Finnick's shoulder and he jumps. "Come on Fin. Let's go." He starts to protest, but I pull him up. Somehow we both make it up to my floor and to the couch, waiting for a snack to be brought.

Finnick's face is buried in his hands. "It was about you Finnick," I say.

"Yes," he mutters.

"Tell me," I say gently.

"I wanted to die. She stopped me," he says as he looks up into my eyes.

"What did she say to change your mind?" I ask as my hands find his.

"Not a word," he smiles. "Not a single word. She was…just…there. She was just there for me." He squeezes my hand back, "Just like you."

"Don't worry," I push the hair back from his face. "She's coming home to you."

"How can you say that? You've got two amazing tributes."

"Listen to me," he looks directly into my eyes. "I'll kill Eve and Caine myself if I have to. Annie is coming home to you."

…

It's shortly before dawn when we both get up. Finnick is nestled against me. I can't explain it. I know that people—if they knew, would think there's some kind of romance going on even if we're both denying it. But…it's the same way as when I was young with Liam. When I had a nightmare, I'd go his bed and wake him up. He'd hold me tell I fell asleep. He helped chased the nightmares away. When he was gone, there was no one to chase the nightmares away for me—but I became the chaser to Sven and Greta's nightmares. They'd come to me in the night and I'd coo them to sleep. Somehow, I made them feel safe. I don't think I'll ever feel safe again, but when I'm with Finnick—that's as close as I'll ever get. He has my back.

He orders breakfast while I shower, then we both sit there and eat hurriedly. He showers while I change, and an Avox brings him a pair of clothes. We hurry back up stairs. I see Coral give a look of derision as we separate. I make it to my station, and Blight is finishing his cup of coffee. "I was just about to call you."

"Did something happen?" I can feel the knots in my stomach again.

"No, but they've woke up." And sure enough, there they are on the screen already awake and alert. But they're not alone. "They're going to make their first kills."

I watch as the district nine girl and district eight girl stumble to the water, they're cut up pretty bad. Not wary at all in their thirst. It's so easy when Eve and Caine sneak up behind them. Eve buries her axe into the side of the district nine girl as she begins to turn, caving in half her side. The girl from nine just begins to scream when Caine buries his dagger in her back. The boy's cannon booms, but Caine has to finish the girl off before her cannon goes off. Bloodied, he makes his way over to the water while Eve waits. They take turns washing off the blood and grime, then retreat back to their tree while the hover crafts take the bodies away.

They both are in good health and seem to be taking their first kill well. Good, I told them no matter how bad it was to act like it was nothing. They follow directions really well. Eve puts more of the antibiotic on her shoulder and then replaces the bandage. They finish off the other loaf of bread and saturate themselves with water before filling them up again. They're being very careful to hydrate. Then they're off through the jungle with Eve taking the back.

The careers are up now too. Annie is up swiftly, I think she was faking the last few minutes of sleep. Amber tells Triton to take the lead.

I watch as they move through the jungle swiftly. The hours fly by and there's not much interaction. The tributes from eleven run into a smaller muttation, but they're fast enough and smart enough to out maneuver it. Eve and Caine are trekking across the bridge a mile high. They cross quickly while they scan the area. They're using it to get their bearings. They find another source of water on the far side, drink all their water and replenish. We send them two more loafs of bread, which they store away to eat later.

Triton keeps leading and by the end of the day they've found the female from five before they make camp. Amber finishes her off after playing with her fear for a few minutes. That's one thing about her, she might be a career and bloodthirsty but she's cool-headed. She leads but with an iron firmness in her silence. She's not to be disobeyed, and no one has even tried to question her. Any little dispute is quickly silenced by her. That's why she's so dangerous.

The night falls and the tributes make camp. Eve and Caine are up in the mountains settling in high up in a tree. From where they're sitting, they can see the pinpoint of a fire who they know must be the careers—no one else would risk it. The district eleven tributes are huddled together near a fallen log, using it to blend in with the night—the girl's face mostly covered to blend in with the darkness.

The careers fire is roaring, "Eleven more to go." Amber's looks at Keegan pointedly. This alliance will last two days longer at the most. There are only eleven left and seven of those are the careers. One look at Amber's eyes shows that she's planning something.


	56. Descent Into Madness

**Responding to everyone's reviews, might be a little slow.**

**Remember, reviews are hot!**

**Thank you for the outpouring of reviews lately, I've nearly got 350 *_***

_**There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.**_

_**Friedrich Nietzsche**_

Things are calm as the career alliance settles in around the fire. Keegan and Glint, the male from one, are standing guard. They're drinking water as Triton throws more wood on the fire. He's sitting beside Annie while Lux and Amber sit across the fire with Silk on the other side of Lux.

Amber's silent while the rest make small talk. Something catches her eye though, and her eyes flick up. There fluttering down to her between the trees is a silver parachute and her hands are reaching up for it. The white blonde of her hair seems even more bleached out as her expectant hands reach up. The cameras are at an angle to see her reaching up for it, but something else catches my eye—just a small glint.

The parachute lands in her hands, then the sound of a cannon fills the arena. Each of the tributes is reaching for their weapons, confusion spread on their face. For a moment, it looks safe—but then Amber falls over backwards as the parachute falls from her hands. There's the silver dagger in her chest, her clothes splotched with blood and her eyes wide and staring. I curse under my breath. That knife is Triton's, he's been carrying it around since yesterday when it was sent to him.

Keegan swiftly kills Glint before he can react, another cannon booms as Silk throws herself into action against Keegan for murdering her partner. At the same time Lux's eyes go from the knife to Triton, his hand reaching for his weapon. Triton sees it as Lux is bringing the sword around. "Run Annie!" He shoves her backwards, the spear looses from her hand.

She hits the ground just in time as Lux brings his sword around as he comes up. Triton's eyes are on Annie who's stunned but recovering. Her hand is just over the spear when it happens. The cannon booms as Triton's head rolls on to her stomach, eyes still wide and staring at her—the air still thick with his scream for her to run.

There's blood everywhere, and Keegan's cannon booms as Annie begins screaming loudly. She's scrambling to her feet—Triton's head rolling off. She's screaming and off through the forest without her weapon.

She's splattered with blood, and Lux and Silk are running after her, but they're no match for her speed. She's running fast, without purpose driven by fear. Lux and Silk give up with the darkness and retreat. Annie has no supplies at all as she runs without slowing. She's crashing loudly and sobbing as she runs driven by her grief.

My eyes flicker over to Eve and Caine who are huddled together on one branch. Eve's steadied herself, but Caine has his arm wrapped around her middle as she stands on the branch to see. They could see shadows of things that went on by the fire. "I think…the careers…" Her words hang ominously in the air until the night sky lights up with the faces of Glint, Amber, Triton, the girl from five, and Keegan before it fades away.

"There's only seven left," Eve starts as she squats back down, her face turning toward Caine.

"That's close to six," he says somewhat sadly.

"We don't have to split up," she finishes. "We can stay together." She pauses, "It can be us at the end."

"But then I might have to kill you," he's looking at her seriously.

"I might have to kill you," she counters.

"And if you do, you'll take care of them won't you?" He almost begs.

"I will, and if it's you—" She pauses.

"I'll take care of Acanthus." He pauses for a moment, "It's going to be hard if it comes to us."

"It won't be that hard, not really. If I die by your hand—Acanthus will still be okay. The same for your girl, for Lila." She finishes softly, "I'll take care of her for you. This way, no matter what our loved ones will be okay. And if we die, it'll be easy and fair. It won't be so bad.'"

He pulls her to him, "Okay. We'll go to the end." And they sit there in the darkness, holding on to a deal that will cost at least one of them their souls. As I watch them, I realize that this would be what it was like if Finnick and I were in the arena together.

I move over to Finnick's station and he's sobbing there with his head in his hands. I watch his shoulders hunch and move up and down with the force of his sobs. I watch as Annie runs wild-eyed through the jungles—the creatures moving and bellowing.

Everyone's watching me, because I'm brash and rude—I've been rude to them all. But this isn't about me or appearances. When I kneel down he clings to me and I wrap my arms around him and stroke his head. My eyes stare at the screen as he sobs himself out. More and more Annie descends into madness.

I stay with Finnick as he sleeps there on the cot, his head resting in my lap. It's much the same as when I lost my family and Ivan and Blight held me. The other victors don't say a word, they don't approach me or make comments as I stroke his head and watch for him. Victors don't question the ways of other victors, not even the ones that have turned to alcohol and drugs are condemned. You deal how you must, you hold on to each other—to a bottle, to a needle. You hold on to whatever it takes.

Our tributes are in good hands with Blight so I stay with Finnick until the morning there at his station. Cashmere's taken away—she's in labor, going to have her child and give it up. Dimly, I feel sorry for her.

The next day passes with little snatches of sleep. Nothing happens. Annie is sobbing and tucked up in a branch of a tree in a small ball. Her eyes are vacant. She doesn't talk to voices or anything like that, but she's lost it. She's lost in her sorrow and who can blame her? The guy she grew up with's head landed in her lap.

The more I watch, the more it becomes evident. Triton had implied that he came to save her. The truth was that in a fair fight—probably none of them had a chance against Amber. He had killed Amber, easily and told Annie to run. I realize it with a jolt—he timed this. He planned it. He got close to her, made Amber trust him as the second in command so that he could kill her at the right moment. She never saw it coming—not yet anyways. They were supposed to still be strong—still together as careers. But he had severed that bond so that Annie would have a chance. If Amber lived there would have been no chance. With Amber gone, at the price of his life—Annie had a chance.

I could admire his sacrifice. And I can understand why he did it—she had someone left to love. But even he couldn't see what would happen, that his death would cripple her or rather how it happened. It's bad enough your friend has to die, has volunteered to die for you—but having his head land in your lap?

She'll never be the girl Finnick loved again.

…

They play it over and over again, and somewhere some Capitol people are relishing it—but it must be hell for his family. They try to send Annie a dagger, but she just sobs harder and lets it float to the ground. Her sponsor money has mostly been removed—no one wants to support a damaged victor. They barely have enough for a bottle of water for her, but it's clear she won't last long without more. She rouses from her daze after the water sits there for a few hours before hurriedly drinking it down. Then her eyes go vacant again, and for the first time in the arena a storm starts. She covers her ears as the thunder rolls and the lightening electrifies the sky. She huddles into a ball with her hands covering her ears, rocking as if she's trying to blot out the sound.

I remember the haze I was in after the death of Wren. I keep waiting for her to pull herself together, but she can't seem to. She keeps trying. I see her get up and walk, but she winds up crying and huddled down. She sleeps and wakes up screaming, and I wonder how much I looked like this in my games.

There are moments, when she seems almost herself again when those sea green eyes find the camera. She looks whole and perfect then it's gone before long. I know she's trying to hold on, that those moments are when she remembers Finnick. But in the arena, everything begins to feel like a dream and only the arena is true.

She's not going to last.

District four is out looking for sponsors but none are to be found. Finnick's out looking too. But they have no luck at all. Another day goes by without event. It's late evening and Finnick's out looking again when Blight relieves me.

I go to the room, shower, and then dress and go back out. Maybe I can find Annie a sponsor. I don't know exactly how or if I can for her—but I've got to try. I head down to the restaurant that everyone goes to troll for sponsors.


	57. Sell My Soul

__**I don't think anyone knows how long I've planned this scene. It was one of the first scenes I ever wrote for Johanna, way back around chapter five. And I'm pleased to say that the ONLY changes I had to do was the very tense and add in a few transitions (and grammar). So here's one of the earliest scenes I've written. Virtually untouched. Hate mail goes to my inbox! **

**Next update will likely be Monday. And for those of you have been waiting for Districts of Hunger, you'll be pleased to know I just wrote the end scene (out of order.) And I cried...alot. Don't read it if you want happy.**

_**I'm a whore above the broken dreams  
>This simple answer is never what it seems<strong>_

_**...**_

_**Sold my soul, from heaven into hell**_  
><em><strong> Sick as my secrets, but never gonna tell.<strong>_

_**30 Seconds to Mars, "Search and Destroy"**_

When I walk in, I'm instantly greeted like a celebrity. I'm taken to a table in the middle of the room. Over the next hour, people come by me and speak with me. They congratulate me on such amazing tributes, they promise funds. When I can, I try to bring the subject around to Annie. But everyone without fail dismisses her. This is not going to work.

I'm finally on my main course, and not being bothered as much when I hear a voice.

"Snow said you refused."

I look at him distastefully, not because he is old or even unpleasant looking, but because he thinks he can buy me. It's clear what he meant with his words. He is arrogant enough to disturb my food and approach me in public and mention that. "Yeah, so?"

He's tall with dark black hair, and eyes that are a dark brown. He's muscled and well-tailored. I can see that he's someone who's obviously rich, and therefore respected in the Capitol. As my cold eyes look at him, he leans close to my ear. "There must be something you'd do anything to have."

My heart thuds sickly in my chest—I wanted Annie to make it, for Finnick. Because he had a chance at love again, because he is my friend. "What if there was?" I laugh it off as a joke, wishing he meant it and that I could trust him.

"I want you at any cost, and I'll pay Snow and I'll pay you for whatever you want. I'll sponsor your tribute for the next six years," he offers. "If that's what it takes."

I hesitate for a moment lowering my lashes as my lips nearly brush his ear, "No matter what, sponsor Annie Cresta. Make sure she has whatever she wants to eat, whatever she needs. Bring her home," My voice is hardly audible, but I pull away and I see him assessing me. I'm afraid he's going to object. She's gone absolutely mad. She's not the career girl everyone knew and loved—sponsor's can't even be found for her anymore, sponsors are pulling out. It's not like he can really bring her home.

I don't even know who he is.

"That's what you want? That's all you want?" He looks at me oddly.

Is that all? I am asking for her life! "You can bring her home? What price do I pay for that?" I cock an eyebrow at him. How much money do you have to have to fix a game?

"A week." I grimace but he continues on. "Tonight. And then after the Games you'll come back for six days won't you?" If anything or anyone caught this conversation now it'd sound like somehow he'd seduced me, offered me trinkets.

"I'll kill you, if you're lying to me," my eyes flash at him and my teeth are gritted.

However, he only smiles, "I'm not lying. Annie Cresta will win the games if that's what you want."

"I do," I throw my napkin down as I leave with him. "Sure, let's go. I've got time to waste."

…

The bile is rising in my throat as I stand there. Everyone knows what I'll be doing here, but few will know why or even bother to understand. I had promised myself I'd never let this happen. There was no one left I loved. I had said it over and over until I half-believed it. I know everyone else did. But the truth was…maybe just maybe there was someone. Someone who had gone through the same thing as me, and he had a chance to be happy. Finnick wouldn't hesitate for me, even though he'd never admit it. And what I'm going to do, he must never know.

I walk into the cool corridor of his home. I feel the beast in me rising; I feel the anger welling into my eyes until I think I could scorch the world with my looks. And then he's there, and he's looking at me while pouring a drink, but he doesn't care.

The slinky blue dress accentuates my small body, and tones down the muscles of my arms some way. I know I look appealing from the look in his eye as he hands me the glass. He doesn't question my glare, he doesn't question anything or pretend this is anything more than what it is—using each other.

I look at him for a long moment. I know what it must have cost him to request me—more than any body for a week should be worth. I don't know why he wants me, and I don't want to know. What I want to know is why he agreed to my condition.

I stare at him. I know next to nothing about Raven DeCroix other than that he wants me and he bought me at a very high price. He's paying Snow for me, and he's paying me too. But I can't question his intentions—not now, because they don't matter.

He downs his glass, "You don't have to act like that Jo." I hate the way he says it, it reminds me of Wren. "Get mad if you want, I'd much rather see that rage and passion that was in the arena than this composed girl."

Far be it from me to pass up the chance to show my "passion." I smash the glass on the wall behind him, and I am trembling with rage. With a swipe of my hand, the glass is flying from his hand into the wall. The corners of his mouth upturn as I smash the next closest thing to me.

Then his arms are around me, pushing me to the wall. And this is what I have to go along with, this is not a part I could fight against—but I don't have to play nice either. His hands rip the split up past my thigh, as his lips press against mine. It isn't unpleasant—if he was someone other than him and I someone other than me, and us somewhere other than this it could have been wonderful. But we are both driven by need—him for the need of me and I for the need to sponsor Annie. Need makes you do terrible things.

The animal, the beast I became in the arena is nothing compared to this.

I push his lips away and trail down his neck and bite fiercely, then kiss further before I do it again. I hope it hurts, maybe it'll get infected after the games and he'll die. All he needs to know is that right now, I'll go along with it even if I want to kill him instead.

Somehow my fingers have found the buttons to his shirt, but I stop fumbling for them and rip it open instead—delighting in ripping the expensive fabric. But he doesn't care, maybe this is how he likes it—because instead of anger, instead of "deal's off", or hitting me—his breathe is hot on my neck, and his whispers beg for more.

Far be it from me to deny him _this._

I stall as long as I can. I bite his chest, his shoulders and his lips just as much as I kiss them. His hands are frenzied, maybe bruising in his lust but not intentionally harmful like I'm being. He doesn't spare my dress, and he rips the rest off with his bare hands until I'm standing there in my sheer little black Capitol underclothes that would have embarrassed most folks back home.

I pull off his belt, noticing the bite marks swelling on his chest. I give off a satisfactory smile, and as the belt slides off I am thinking what it'd be like to choke him with it, the way I'd choked that boy in the arena with my hair. But I resist.

He's got nothing on now as he rips off my flimsy underclothes. Hoisting my small body effortlessly, he's got my legs wrapped around his waist.

And this is the part I've been dreading.

As much as I want time to slow down, his need is too urgent now—and my need for this night to be over with and Annie to be okay—it's grown greater too. He's thrown me on the bed, and he's over me groaning letting his face trail from my neck to my uncovered breasts. I feel my body shiver, and I hate that some animalistic, human part of me is hungry for this—that though I don't like him I am aroused. It's been too long. A dead lover and a baby ago.

My laugh comes out vicious and he stops to look at me like I'm crazy. Maybe I am crazy, but I laugh again. I can feel that menacing smile on my lips again, "What are you waiting for?" I scoff.

Then he bites, gently into my neck—and at the same time, we connect.

...

I lay there on my side, he's sound asleep beside me. I hate myself for it. But she'll be safe, or at least as safe as we can get her. Finnick will be happy again.

It still wrankles me that my body had betrayed me, that I could find pleasure with him even though I knew I couldn't control it. It wasn't something I could help. But even if it cost me more than my dignity, made me hate myself more (it wasn't possible), I was glad I did it.

Because I know two things now.

I don't have to be meek. I can control the situation and the man or any man to get what I want—secrets like Finnick told me he gathers or favours like now. There are men with power out there.

And the second thing is that it only cost your soul. Mine is damaged and broken already, who else would want it anyways? All that mattered was I was keeping my promise to Finnick, I was going to bring Annie home.


	58. Parachute Rain

**Katniss isn't the only one who hates to owe people.**

_**Freedom is never dear at any price. It is the breath of life. What would a man not pay for living?**_  
><em><strong>Mahatma Gandh<strong>_

I feel him move beside me. his hand reaches out and touches my bare arm as he shifts under the covers to get closer to me. I can feel his warmth approaching me, and it's everything I can do to keep still. His breath is hot on my neck and I flinch at it. His words are soft as his arm snakes around my waist, "I won't hurt you, Johanna."

I turn towards him, and I find my face having to tilt back to see him. I hate myself because the heat of him excites me. My body hasn't ever responded like that except for when I was with Ivan. "Just another one of the lies I've heard in the Capitol," I grit my teeth as the words fall out.

He pushes back a lock of my hair and he just studies me as I glare back at him. "I imagine you've heard it all." He rolls away from me, and I'm surprised as he picks up the phone and punches some numbers. "Hey," he speaks into the receiver. "You know who this is. Be here in an hour. No excuses." He hangs up the phone and grabs up some pants and then a shirt.

"What was that?" I sit up and watch.

"It's how we're going to save Annie." He sits back down as he starts to button up his shirt. "Why do you care what happens to her?"

"That's none of your business."

"I'm breaking rules here Johanna, just like you. You've trusted me this much…so why not tell me the reason?"

It makes sense, what can it hurt. Even Snow knows that Finnick loves Annie—all the victors do too by now. "Finnick. Finnick loves her."

He gets up and buttons his shirt and then looks back in my eyes. I don't know what he's looking for, but I stare right back at him. "You're broken aren't you?" His hand touches my face and I hold myself still trying not to react. His lips are close to mine, and despite my glaring at him he leans closer until our lips touch. There's some horrid feeling stirring, an intense kind of heat that makes my lips move against his against my will. His other hand tangles in my hair, before he pulls away leaving me confused and angry with myself. "I'll be back. Whatever you do, don't leave here Johanna. He can't know you're here."

"He?" I question, but he's out the door of his room and I'm alone.

…

For awhile I just sit there. It seems impossible that I've found someone who's willing to save Annie. If he's playing me…I could be killed or something or Annie could just die. But if that happens, I will kill him.

What upsets me the most though is that my body keeps reacting to him. I know that I'm still human, but why does my body still have to react to him? Why does it have to keep betraying me?

But I'm stirred from my thought at the sound of voices. I grab one of Raven's shirts and open the door stealthily. I crouch and move across the floor quickly. There's no one around upstairs. I move quietly down the stairs, sliding one leg down then another as I hurry to the sound of voices. I slip down and around the corner to where a shaft of light is coming from a partially open door. I stand up near the door and when I glance through I'm not prepared for what I see.

Standing in the room is Raven DeCroix with Seneca Crane.

Raven puts down his glace, "Well let's stop beating around the bush, Seneca. You'll wan to know why you're here." He looks up and across at Seneca, his eyes still warm and friendly. "I'm calling in your debt."

"Oh?" Seneca Crane messes with his elaborate beard. "But…I'm supposed to have more time. I don't have the funds yet, Mr. DeCroix."

"I know, but I'm calling it in early."

"But—"

"You see, I want something to happen in the games. Someone to win and you can help me with that." He's looking at Seneca Crane who's now fidgeting.

"I can't do that," he protests.

"You can and you will or else I'll have you arrested. If you're lucky, you'll become a peacekeeper—but I think you're a little too well known to last in the districts very long. Or there's always prison." Raven sits down and picks his glass back up.

Seneca Crane swallows hard, "But I can't—"

"Listen, I know you can't make any one person win. But you can certainly tip the odds in their favor." Raven's eyes flick to the door, and I know he sees me. He gets up and comes to the door and pushes it shut. I stand up for a minute and try to listen, but I can't hear a sound through the heavy door so I walk back upstairs and wait.

He comes back in twenty minutes later. "I asked you to wait up here."

"Did you think I'd listen?" I'm staring at him. "He must owe you a lot of money to do what you want." I hug my knees up to my chest.

"Well since you weren't caught, no harm." He sits down and pulls off his shoes before standing back up. He's looking at me strangely again, "You look good in my shirt."

I don't know what to say. I know that he wants me, he made that clear with how much he paid and is willing to pay for me. It has to be a lot of money to make Seneca Crane willing to do something like this. I don't know what to say or do. Well that's not true. I know what he wants—he wants me.

I square my shoulders and set my mind. I didn't want to do this, but he was standing up to his part of the deal and I had to. I never promised to be nice, and I didn't have to be. But I keep looking at him. "What's wrong?" He asks it gently. I can't answer him. I don't like this. He's helping me, even if it's for his own gain—he is helping me and it's something that has to be risky. He's not unkind. And even if he was doing this for all the wrong reasons, he's saving Annie. And my body is responding to him whether I like it or not. So why not just let it be a good screw?

I crawl on me knees to the side of the bed, and undo the buttons to his shirt more gently this time. My fingers lightly trace the lines of his chest and then my lips follow after. I hear the subtle sounds that tell me he's pleased.

"What are you doing?" He moans it out, but he doesn't move away.

"Do I need to draw you a diagram?" My lips pause just above his waist band

"I mean why," he breathes deeply as his lowers his hands on to my shoulders. I shiver as his hands rest there—it's too close to my neck.

"I'm thanking you," my fingers loose his pants and I'm on my feet as I push him back on the bed. I crawl up his body and sit over his lower waist as I undo the buttons on my shirt. It feels too good to me. I keep fighting myself about this. I keep telling myself I'm doing this just because I'm thankful and because I can probably use him again later which I probably can. And even if that's all true—this feels normal. The sex is good, the feelings are reminiscent of a time when sex brought me pleasure and not pain.

He doesn't ask anymore questions as my lips move up his chest or as I lower my body closer to his. His hand tangles in my short hair as my lips find his. We connect easily, and it's not just Raven that makes a sound of pleasure. His hands find the place right above my hips and he pulls me closer as I wrap my arms tight around his neck.

The heat builds in me until it reaches my fingertips, until I can feel it in ever fiber of being. My toes start to tingle as he evokes feelings of pleasure. I feel strangely human and needy. I hadn't realized how much I missed and craved physical affection. I thought that holding on to Finnick, having a friend was good enough—but nothing could quite satiate this need to connect physically with another human being. I'll deal with my traitor body later, tonight I'm tired of fighting myself too.

…

I get up in the morning quickly, and realize I have nothing to wear. My dress is in tatters, and it's five AM. I need to get going. I pull back on his shirt, and he pulls me back to him and he kisses my side but I push him away. He gets out of bed and grabs me a coat that he helps me in to. "The driver will take you back." I turn to go. "Wait," he pulls me closer. "It won't be pretty, Jo. But she'll come home. It'll all end this afternoon."

I stare at him as he quickly kisses me. "Thank you," I say not sure exactly why I even allowed myself to say it.

…

After I shower and get some new clothes at the training center, I go to Control. I check in on Finnick at his station. I sit down beside him, my heart pulsing in my throat. "How are they?"

He turns toward me, and he's exhausted. "She's okay. We've got sponsor money for her. Johanna…" He looks at me instead of saying anything out loud.

I avoid it, "Is she any better?"

"She's not talking to herself or anything like that. She's just…she keeps crying and rocking. But she's surviving. I just…don't know how she's going to come home…." His tortured eyes look up at me, and this is why I did it. But I can't tell him.

"Don't worry, we'll figure it out."

"It's too quiet. They're going to have to push them together—nothings happened for two days."

I can feel the anxiety welling in my stomach as I move to my station. Blight's there and he's exhausted. He just passes out straight on to the couch as he tells me Eve and Caine are fine. While he sleeps, I watch as parachutes rain down on Annie—food and water. She rouses from her stupor and drinks and eats, before going back into it's grasp. She's doing the best she can. She just has to hold out a little while longer.


	59. Until the End

_****_**This is it. The end of Annie's games and everything that entails. I cried...**

**Next update will be Saturday, along with the first full chapter of Districts of Hunger!**

**And I wrote my first M rated fic, which is up, Girl on Fire.**

**So here is the heartbreaking conclusion to Annie's games.**

_**And I wrote you a story**_  
><em><strong>But I'm afraid of how it ends<strong>_

_**Backwards by Christina Perri**_

We have an hour of peace before it begins.

Caine and Eve's tree is hit hard while they're putting up their stuff. Eve stumbles over the edge, but Caine grabs her wrist. For a moment, she hangs there before he's able to hoist her up to him. "What was that?" She sputters out as the tree rocks again.

"I don't know!" He's holding on to the pack, the tree, and Eve. He turns just in time to see it. "Run!" He pushes her hard over the side as he loosens the axe and swings it behind him. It's the first time we get a chance to see it. There's a muttation much like a bear on the branch lunging at him.

The mighty beast swipes it's paws at him, opening up a gash across his face before he hacks off it's paw. As the creature yowls in pain, he tosses the pack down and loosens the other axe. His eyes are wild as he searches for Eve.

Eve caught the branch below her, saving her from the thirty foot drop the ground. Her fingers wrapped around the branch holding on while Caine half dives to the branch she's on. "Down!" He screams it.

She lets go and crashes into the next branch just barely hanging on before she lowers herself down from that branch. She's cut up and bruised, but in good shape as she takes the last few feet to the ground. Eve stumbles and falls backwards just as the axe embeds in the ground a few feet to her right and another muttation lunges at her.

Eve rolls to the left, pulls the axe clean and swipes the blade with force across the creatures chest as Caine comes crashing to the ground flat on his back. She's fighting the muttation when the armless one falls down from the tree in bloodlust. Her fingers close over the pack (that's all that's left of the two they originally had) as Caine struggles to his feet with a grimace. "Run!" She screams as she lunges at the beasts in fury.

He grabs up his axe and begins a hobbling run before his pace evens out with Eve right on his heels. The sound of their panting fills the room while all eyes are on them. Caine's face is dripping with blood and he's slower than usual, he's in pain but he's okay. Eve is scratched up, but nothing major as she catches up. It's then that I notice they're being run from the mountains into the valley.

It takes them half an hour after the sound of the beasts dies out before they stop. They're panting and Caine is making a horrid wheezing sound as he struggle for breathe. "Are you okay?" Eve's eyes dart all around as her stained axe glints in the sunlight. Her breathe is coming easier, but she's shaking from exertion.

"Yeah," Caine straightens up. "I think…" His fingers feel his ribs gingerly as he stands up straight. "I think I cracked a rib," he winces as he touches the offending area.

They decide to stay on the ground in case the mutations come back, as she wraps his ribs and gives him some pain medication. But I'm not allowed to focus on them long before a much more vicious muttation finds the tributes from eleven.

They too are driven into the valley by strange lizard like dinosaur things. But Vane falls already bloody and wounded. She screams to Logan to go on as the beasts close in around her. "Don't let it take us both!" The pleading in her voice makes him move on. He's only ran twenty yards when her cannon booms. He doesn't look back, and he's not chased as the creatures stay with Vane until the hovercraft comes to take her mauled body home.

Annie is already in the valley—nestled in a tree. Her eyes widen in alarm as her hands cover her ears and she starts to sob again. Lux and Silk are on the ground hunting, both intrigued by the sound of the cannon when it all begins to happen.

I'm not ready for it, but I have to be. It was always going to come down to this—Eve, Caine, or Annie. I had chosen Annie, and I still chose her though I wish it didn't have to be that way. I'd have never been able to chose amongst my tributes—but when the only thing Finnick had left to love besides me was in the arena, there was no question to my loyalties. No matter how bad it is—I can live with it.

Logan is hiding his face, probably so that he can cry in peace. Lux and Silk are stalking his trail, nearly to Logan who's oblivious. Annie is still sitting in her tree rocking. Eve's just finished patching Caine up and they're sitting there with their back against a tree. "Six left," he says.

"I'm still staying," she squeezes his hand as she leans her head onto his shoulder.

He leans his head over on her. Soft as a whisper, "Until the end."

None of them know what to do when the whole world begins to shake. Logan's just facing off with the careers and spear narrowly misses him. Everyone is knocked to the ground, except for Annie who clings to her limb screaming. It goes on and on, until the television shows me exactly what Raven had intended.

The dam is breaking.

The fissures spread out and crack. There's mass panic in the room as everyone realizes what's happening. But before anyone can think of anything to do, the water bursts through and the valley starts to fill with water.

Logan is instantly swept off his feet and he doesn't recover his footing. Lux takes off running while Silk pulls herself up into a tree. Eve and Caine are hit with the force before they can get on their feet. Their bag is swept away but they keep ahold of the axes. Caine digs one into the tree as Eve holds on to him. They use it to keep themselves steady to the tree. He pushes Eve up and she climbs with the axe and he climbs behind her, forced to leave the other axe behind. These trees aren't as tall—twenty feet tops. The cannon booms after Logan's been under for three minutes. The water is licking at Eve and Caine's feet as they go higher. Lux's cannon booms after he sinks for the sixth time.

Annie is at the top of her tree, holding on and so is Silk. Eve and Caine have just reached the top of theirs. Quickly, they both abandon their jackets so they're not weighed down. They cut off the heavy legs of their pants. The water is already up to their knees though. Caine burys the axe deep into the wood and they hold on to each other as the water rises. Once it rises enough, they stand on the handle of the axe—there's no more tree to hold on to as the water comes higher and higher.

Silk is struggling to stay afloat but she does it. Annie struggles for a minute or two before she treads water easily, her eyes wide with fear. The water comes up to Eve's chin and Caine pulls her up further, her feet not reaching the axe handle anymore.

They're not panicking, there's acceptance in their faces. "We just have to outlast," she spits water out of her mouth.

The water is up to Caine's chin now, "Listen, I'm taller. I can hold you up for a bit after I go under. I can keep you up, before we have to try to swim. I'll squeeze your waist when I have to come up, take a big breath then." She nods her head. "Take care of them. Please," he begs her.

"I promised! I promise!" She screams as he goes under. She's lifted another foot out of the water, she's shaking and her teeth are chattering as the water rises higher and higher and more fiercely around her. It's about two minutes before she suddenly draws in a breath and sinks down.

Caine rises up, coughing and sputtering. They both struggle and my heart is breaking. I feel Blight's hands on my arms and I feel the sting of tears in my eyes. I can't cry though, I did this to them. I sold them into death. I chose this for them. I don't deserve to cry.

For a few more minutes, they struggle. But it doesn't last long. Their final moments fill the screen as their hands find each other and lock before they're swept under and away. The cannon booms in quick succession as their bodies float to the surface a few minutes later—their hands inches from each other, only relaxing in death. I feel the pain and searing in my chest as I stand up and walk away.

"Johanna!" Blight follows behind me as I stop by Finnick. Finnick is on his feet swaying, his hands in his hair. I bite my lip hard as I find his hand. Blight's looking at me strangely, and I think he's figured it out or something out. He suspects or something. Mags exchanges a look with Blight, but I don't care because I'm focused on Finnick.

I did this for him. I can deal with anything. I don't regret it. My heart soars as I hear Cashmere scream and start sobbing. It's only a few seconds after when Silk's cannon booms.

Despite the shrill cries of Cashmere, I find what I'm looking for. Finnick's eyes turn toward me—no longer dead anymore, but alive and bright. My heart soars in my chest at the sight of the smile on his face as he takes me in his arms and spins me around. I close my eyes and choke back the tears that I want to fall as Cladius Templesmith announces. "I give you Annie Cresta, the winner of the 70th Hunger Games!"

"She made it," Finnick whispers as he leans his forehead against mine. "She's coming back…I didn't think…" He gives a small shiver.

"I told you she would, Fin. I told you, she would."


	60. Drowning

**Districts of Hunger is up, I hope you'll check it out!**

**Hope you enjoy this next update of Johanna.**

_**And I find it kinda funny**_  
><em><strong>I find it kinda sad<strong>_  
><em><strong>The dreams in which I'm dying<strong>_  
><em><strong>Are the best I've ever had<strong>_

_**Mad World by Gary Jules**_

He doesn't want to let me go. He's happy, happier than I've ever seen him. He must know that this means that Snow owns him now, but he doesn't care. Blight is looking at me strangely, but he doesn't say anything as Finnick starts making some coherent sense. "She'll be back soon, you have to come with me."

"I don't think that's allowed Finnick, I have to go," I disentangle myself from him and make my way towards the door. "I'll see you later, I'm sure all she wants to see is you."

I'm out of the door and back into the training center before he catches up with me. He—Blight grabs my elbow, "What did you do?"

Blight's pulling me into the elevator; he's looking at me with that same unreadable expression. I meet his eyes boldly, "Nothing that I'm ashamed of." I lift my chin defiantly and stare him down until he lowers his eyes away from me.

"You could have told me," he says gently.

"Tell you what?" The accusation and warning in my voice is thick. "What could you have done differently?" I grab him by his collar in my rage.

He pulls my hands away, showing much more strength than I was aware he had. I'd misjudged him. "I could have helped," he meets my eyes again and this time I turn away just as the elevator reaches our floor.

I jerk away from him and stalk off to my room to pack a few things. Somehow, I'm able to push everything out of my mind as I pack to go to Raven's place. I don't know what I'll need. Will he show me off? Will I even have any need or time to get dressed?

I shove dress after dress into my bag along with some more comfortable clothes and few seductive ones. I sling everything that I think I could need in my bag. I don't want to be here. Eve and Caine feel too close and real here, as if…they're just around the corner. My thoughts are descending downwards and I'm beginning to shake when there's a knock at the door.

I compose myself quickly and yank the door open, "What the he—" I stop as I take in the pale face of a girl. The way her lips pucker, the way she swallows. She hands me a blue box wrapped with a ribbon. I can't stand to look at her as I pull open the box. There's a key with a note beneath it:

_Make yourself at home._

…

The Avox girl takes me there, but she doesn't leave me. I search around the house, looking for Raven not because I want him but more that I don't want to be alone with this girl. She makes me uncomfortable. The last thing I want right now is to be alone with my thoughts.

He's not anywhere to be found and it's no use to ask her. I throw my stuff in his room, because what's the use of putting it anywhere else? I know what I'll be doing most of the time. I'm here so he can screw me—that's the deal. I'll keep it because he kept his promise to me.

After I wander around for another hour, I draw a bath and get in. The water soaks in my skin as all of the pain of the last few days soaks in with it. He brought Annie home even though I thought he was bluffing. I had sold out the only ones who I was still responsible for in this world.

Caine had a sweetheart with family. She'd be sobbing for him back home, and the care he'd help them with is gone. Hopefully, they wouldn't die without him helping them. The strong and safe home he'd have provided for them when he won would never be achieved. She'd be mourning a grave of lost love and lost hope. If she was lucky, she'd find someone she loved half as much and have kids that were never reaped.

Eve left behind one person who loved her too. She was just as capable as Caine. She had just as much drive to get back home, her brother Acanthus loved her desperately. And now, he was all alone at the Community Center where the people running it could nearly be as cruel as the games. No one would take his beatings for him like she did, there'd be no one left for him to love anymore.

And I'd killed them both.

It was as if I'd taken my own hands and strangled them. I don't think I'll ever forget how they died. I know it'll haunt my every dream. The horror of Riley holding me under the water has never faded and I can't imagine what it was like for them to not have been able to come up.

Maybe it would have just been easier if I'd not fought Riley.

I don't know why I do it. I slip under the water, holding on to the edges of the tub. My eyes squeezed tightly shut. This is what it must have felt like for Caine. He was holding Eve up, trying to give her a chance to live even at the cost of his own life. I'd never had the chance at that, I never in thought of that in my games. I wanted to survive at any cost, but Eve and Caine had accepted that if either of them won the other would too.

His lungs must have been bursting as he held her up. I can still see her gulping for a final breath before she goes under. I can see her hands reaching out for his. The cameras had become artistic in the final moments—showing them beneath the surface as their fingers reached toward each other in death—trusting the other to try to live on after them. Only death had pulled them apart and not even then really.

I can feel my chest contracting as I remain beneath the water. Maybe if I stay under just a little longer, I'll die. I should have just let Riley finish the job to begin with.

Suddenly, I feel something jerk me and I'm jolted out of the water gasping. "What the hell are you doing?" He shakes me so much that I can't see straight at first.

"Let me go!" I yank my arms away from Raven and struggle to my feet in indignation. I'm shaking in fury and I'm lightheaded as I stand there.

He takes a towel and wraps it around me so kindly that I'm taken back. "Are you okay?" He tilts my head back and looks into my eyes searching for something.

"Fine," I say coolly as I step out of the tub. "Was just enjoying a bath."

He's following behind me as I'm walking, "Looked like you were drowning to me."

I ignore him as I throw off the towel in his room. "Shut up, okay?" I turn on him fiercely. "Don't pretend like you care! I'll keep up my end of the bargain, don't worry. I won't die before you can get your money worth!"

My bare chest is heaving, but he keeps his eyes on mine not letting his eyes wander at all. His hand comes up to face and his thumb rubs over my lip. I feel that strange burn again and it infuriates me and pleases me.

Before I know what's happening, we're at it. I'm ripping off his clothes and then we're against the wall. My nails are raking his flesh as my mouth finds silence against shoulder. "You don't have to hide anything Johanna," his breath his hot against my neck as my eyes roll back. "Scream, if you want. Curse. Whatever."

I grab a handful of his black hair as a cry comes from the back of my throat.

…

I'm swimming in a vast ocean. Annie's been saved. Finnick is pulling her into the boat when I feel something latching on to my ankle. Fingers yanking me down and under. I can't catch my breath and I can't get free. But then there's an axe in my hand and I'm hacking away at what's holding me—only it's Riley.

A cry tries to escape my lips, but all I inhale is water. His arm separates his body and I'm free, shooting to the surface when Eve and Caine grab a hold of my ankles. Their accusing eyes are boring into me and I'm pulled further down. The horrid feel of water entering my lungs is suffocating me, burning my entire esophagus.

I cannot scream.

I am screaming. I feel arms holding me down, but I can breathe kind of. The tears are pouring from my eyes and I'm fighting hard against them. They can't take me back under, they can't!

But his voice breaks over me, "Johanna! Wake up! Wake up!"

My eyes open to see dimly beyond the tears that it's Raven. He keeps asking me what's wrong, but I'm powerless to speak or stop crying even though I'm ashamed. Instead he cradles me to his chest as I continue to sob and attempt to reject his comfort. But it's futile.


	61. Damage Control

**The lyrics of this chapter, for me, are basically Johanna's theme song. Listen to it! Amazing song! **

**_There's blood in my mouth 'cause I've been biting my tongue all week  
>I keep on talkin' trash but I never say anything<br>And the talkin' leads to touchin'  
>and the touchin' leads to sex<br>and then there is no mystery left_**

**_And It's bad news_**  
><strong><em>Baby I'm bad news<em>**  
><strong><em>I'm just bad news, bad news, bad news<em>**

**_I know I'm alone if I'm with or without you_**  
><strong><em>but just bein' around you offers me another form of relief<em>**  
><strong><em>When the loneliness leads to bad dreams<em>**  
><strong><em>and the bad dreams lead me to callin' you<em>**  
><strong><em>and I call you and say "C'MERE!"<em>**

**_And it's bad news_**  
><strong><em>Baby I'm bad news<em>**  
><strong><em>I'm just bad news, bad news, bad news<em>**

**_'Cause you're just damage control_**  
><strong><em>for a walking corpse like me - like you<em>**

**_Portions for Foxes by Rilo Kiley_**

I'm loosing the battle, but I don't stop fighting against him—struggling to hold my own and be independent. I'm just not up for it though, the truth is that I can hardly breathe. I'm going under, and the sobs that are being ripped from my throat cripple me. But I fight against him harder than ever, because I don't want him to see me like this.

The more I fight against him, the closer he holds me until I can feel his hands bruising me. My futile hands beat against chest in angry rhythm as he holds me down to the bed. I lunge forward and hit him hard with my head, and for a moment he loses his grip on me and I'm out from under him and across the room. But I don't know where to go and everything is spinning and I'm going under….

Under…

I feel his hands on my waist gently, "Johanna…stop. You're going to hurt yourself."

But I say nothing as I just stand there with my arms limp at my side. I look at him through the haze of my tears, "It would be easier if I had died in the arena." It comes out clearly with no regret or angst, just a simple matter of fact.

He pulls me to him so easily, "Don't say that."

"No one would miss me. There are some who would still be alive if it wasn't for me."

"I would miss you," his voice is soft as he looks down into my eyes.

"You can't miss me, you don't know me. You'll never know me," I glare up at him defiantly

"I'd like to, if you'll let me." He pushes back a strand of my hair, "Finnick would miss you. He wouldn't have Annie without you."

I wipe at my eyes, struggling to gain composure, "Well, maybe if we're lucky I'll get you killed to." Maybe he did know me better than I thought to know so easily that mentioning Finnick would bring me around. He was one of the few people left in the world that I had left to lose. "Let me go, I can take care of myself." I push him away and crawl back into the bed, with my back firmly to him.

I can feel him crawl in behind me and fix the covers over us both. His gentle fingers find his way around my waist. As much as I hate myself for it, I turn into his chest and bury my face there. "I know you can take care of yourself Johanna, but you don't have to."

…

When I wake up, the sun is high in the sky and Raven is propped up on his elbow staring at me with a goofy grin on his face and big red mark on his forehead from where I headbutted him. "Why are you staring at me?"

"You looked peaceful."

"You look creepy," I shoot back. I shut my eyes back, not wanting to see his goofy grin. "You could be useful and go get me food."

"Do it yourself," he nearly laughs.

"I could kill you for that," I say simply with my eyes still closed.

"What a pleasure to die then. It won't be quick will it?"

"You're a freak," I throw the covers off of myself and pick up some shirt discarded on the floor as I make my way down the stairs. I have the shirt on, but blaring open by the time I reach the bottom floor—that's when I realize someone else is there. My fingers close around a book that rests on a table at the end of the stairs as I hear something coming around the corner. I launch it right as that something comes around the corner, and the Avox girl from yesterday takes a book to the face.

I watch her fall, still shocked she's here when I hear Raven hurrying down the stairs. "You are very destructive, aren't you?" He pushes past me to the girl and helps her to her feet.

She looks a bit dazed, but okay. "What is she doing here still?" I ask defensively.

Raven looks from me to the girl and back, "I think you should go away for right now." The girl hurries away looking at me a bit anxiously. He looks at me keenly before continuing, "She's a gift for you."

I can feel the horror rising in me, the anger. "A…what?" My voice is even and flat, holding the promise of a threat.

"I own a male Avox, Orson," he pauses me before I can yell at him. "I bought him out from working underground. He does whatever he likes, here he's free until company comes over—then he has to keep up appearances and serve. I bought the girl for you as an excuse to get another one from the undergrounds. She was there for a year, I bought her because I was hoping to have a lady friend here more often—you, Johanna. Her name is Esther. She's free to do whatever she likes here until people are over. I can't release them, but I can let them have a good life here. I thought you would understand that."

I stare at him a bit taken back, "You surprise me." It's all I manage to say as I take in what he said. I turn on me heels and make my way back to the kitchen as my mind wanders back to the train again. I can't talk about him, about the Avox who offered me kindness without endangering him—I can only hold him close to my heart if I wish to protect the one person besides for family that believed in me. He was better off never knowing me, and as long as I never spoke of him then he'd be safe.

…

I become quite comfortable with Raven. He's not demanding at all. For someone who spent what I assume must be a small fortune buying me, he doesn't ever push me for anything. He doesn't ask for a sandwich let alone sex. He lets me initiate everything, which I inevitably do because I'm a woman of action.

I learn that he has commitments though I'm not sure what they are. He makes a few phone calls, and even leaves me alone for a few hours at a time. He's always complacent and no matter what insults I hurl at him, he deflects them easily. It only takes me two days to stop, because it's no fun when he won't rise to the bait.

He cooks for me each evening or brings something back. I don't see the Avoxs—Orson and Esther except when they bring some groceries in. Raven tells me that only the Avoxs or those who felt like slumming got their own groceries anymore.

At night, I find myself pulled against him. My skin craves to touch his skin. My body responds to him against any reason or judgment. I hate to admit it but he's okay underneath it all. Somehow, I find that he can stop my tears. He can keep me together despite myself. Each night that I wake up screaming, I find arms more comforting and soothing than anyone can be who has not been in the arena. It's most often after the dreams that I find myself hungry for him, and he never fails to satiate me no matter the time of night or how intense the need. I don't know why he pays for something so broken as me…But the week rejuvenates me as we stay in.

He doesn't ask anything, and the talk is easy. He offers to buy me anything I want, but there's nothing I really need—so he gets another Avox instead. One more person granted freedom in this house. He's terrified at first—his name is Joniah. But Esther, who's eyes have already lost some of their haunted look holds his hand as he looks at Raven and I as if we're about to torture him more. I know whatever horror I've been through can be nothing to what they've seen. But they hold his hand and shoo the horror away with him.

The day breaks on the eighth day, and I keep getting pulled back to him over and over when I try to leave. I don't know how many times I get pulled back for kisses or another goodbye. My skin is hot and tingling—the day half-gone when I make my way down the stairs with my bag. Joniah is there and he offers me his hand since he's finally accepted me (but not Raven yet).

My fingers close around his hand and I shut my eyes thinking that it's him, the Avox on the train from a lifetime ago. I imagine that he's safe that somewhere in the Capitol someone else is saving him like this too. The warmth he radiates is something I'm not capable of, and when I open my teary eyes to see him he looks at me with concern. It's like he cares even after all that's happened to him—like he cares what happens to _me._

I let go of him and he drifts away as I find myself in Raven's arms again. "You don't have to leave," he begins.

"I do. I've stayed longer than I said I would," It's the truth.

"You can come home anytime," he kisses me lightly.

I pick my bag up and open the door. My hand is still resting on the knob before I close it when I answer, "This isn't my home." I pull the knob and the door clicks shut behind me.


	62. In From the Cold

**Sorry for the shortness of this. Maybe this will actually post because the site keeps freaking going down X_X**

_**Being a spy, you have to get comfortable with the idea of people doing bad things for good reasons; doing good things for bad reasons. You do the best you can.**_

_**Burn Notice, Michael Westen**_

There's a car waiting outside and it takes me back to the training center. All I can smell and taste is Raven. He'd invited me stay, just simple and easy as that. I wonder if it was kindness and compassion or if it was some sense of owning me or some other silly Capitol notion? But in the end, it doesn't matter because I can't stay—I won't stay.

I'm roused from my thoughts as I exit the car in front of the Training Center. I carry my bag past the flashing cameras into the lobby. Someone stands up slowly from a chair and walks toward me. It's Blight, but he looks pale and sick as he comes to me. I don't stop him when he takes me in his arms—they feel as close to family as I have now. His hands shake as he wraps around me, "Johanna…"

"I'm fine," it comes out gruffly. I guess, maybe I should have told him where I was. He should know by now that I can take care of myself though, I don't have to or want to explain to Snow or anyone else—especially not my friends. But I look at him as he pulls back from me, and he doesn't look relieved. "What's the matter?" I pull at him to go sit down, but he leads me to the elevator quietly.

He presses the button and we shoot up to our floor before he says a word. I don't like the way he's acting, "I don't like this."

I'm getting irritated by now with his cryptic messages. I've been through it once and I won't go through it again. "Don't like what?"

He looks at me with his dark eyes, and I realize how old he looks. He's worn, like he's aged years in the days since I've seen him. He looks sick and frail…Before I can ask him, he steers me to my room door. He hesitates as he looks at me again, struggling with what to say. "I don't like what you and Finnick are doing…But you're grown and I'm not your father." His eyes keep boring into mine, letting me know that he can't say what he'd like—that this is as much of an explanation as I'm going to get and that whatever is going to go on beyond the door of my room involves Finnick.

I smirk at him as I pull open my door, "You should know by now that you can't tell me what to do."

When I walk in, I find Finnick laying his coat down on the bed and folding his shirt beside it. His eyes are glittering oddly and his fingers move in that nervous manner. I'm hyper-aware as I wait for him to talk. "Thought you'd never get back, 'Anna."

"I'd have come sooner if I knew you where here," I throw my bag down on the ground as I slip out of my shoes.

"I'm always here for you," he smiles at me as he heads to the bathroom. I hear him turn on the shower and before long we're in there together again. The water is pounding hard against our skin, so hard it feels like it will bruise. But it's loud, no one will be able to hear us talk in here.

"What's going on Finnick?" I whisper it into his ear as I hold on tight to him.

"Johanna," he sighs and lays his head upon my shoulder heavily.

"Is she okay?" I feel something in my stomach dropping.

"As good as can be expected. It's not that. It's…I'm supposed to tell you about what I do," I can hear the sound of his voice breaking, and I don't interrupt. "I didn't want to bring you in. I wanted to protect you…"

"I don't need protecting," I say brashly. "Just tell me Finnick," I can't stand this feeling in the pit of my stomach—this sense of impending dread.

His lips tickle my ear, but I don't move from him. "We're working against the Capitol. District Thirteen stills exists. We're working on overthrowing the Capitol." I grip his shoulders tightly, "I can't tell you the details. Do you trust me?"

It's my turn to lean my head on his shoulder, "You don't have to ask Fin. You're about the only one I do trust."

He runs his fingers through my hair, "I deal in secrets. I'll tell you more some other time, but there—I don't want to ask this of you, but I have to. There's someone who we need to know about and he's interested in you."

He wants me to seduce this man. He wants me to sell myself to some man for a cause that I don't even know fully about yet. Maybe it's crazy, but I can't even think of saying no. All I can see is what a life without the games would be like, a life where I could have been happy. But that's not possible—what's possible now is freedom and revenge.

I pull my head back and look up in his eyes, "Who?"

"I'm—" I stop him from apologizing. "Carmen Sorday. He's in charge of tunnels below the city. We don't have much information from down there. We need to find out everything we can."

I nod at him, "How do I bring him in?"

"Just bring him in slowly, convincingly. You're sure?" He holds both sides of my face and stares into my eyes.

"I'm sure."

…

Annie still isn't able to have her interview. They're saying she's got pneumonia or something—but I know from Finnick that she's barely keeping it together, she's sedated half of the time. I hate it for her, but it gives us the time to find out more secrets in the Capitol.

All week, I've been reeling him in slowly. But his secrets aren't the only ones I need. By the time he's made a deal for me, I've been in at least three other beds. Their secrets were important, but not as important as his.

I'm sipping a glass of wine when I hear a familiar voice behind me. "Hello Johanna," I turn to him. The dark eyes, the built body—the way my body instantly responds to the sound of his voice can only mean one person. It's Raven.

"What are you doing here?" I cock an eyebrow.

"Hoping to see you," he grabs a glass off a tray going by.

"Seen me now," I finish off my glass as I see Carmen motion for me across the room. I pull up at the hem of my dress and start to walk when I feel his hand on mine.

"Where are you going?" He looks concerned as he says it, and my traitor of an arm is tingling where he's touched me.

I remove his hand gently, "I'm on to the next buyer." I turn on my heel and head toward Carmen.

…

It's routine by now. The prompts for more alcohol, the kisses and innuendo, and the small talk. It's easy to build him up. My lips move up his shoulder, and for a moment his information stops. But I ask more questions, I flatter his ego. I allow him to do whatever he wants with me for the sake of his secrets.

In the morning, I don't leave with my dignity—but I leave with the information that I've come to find.


	63. Why?

**Next update will be late Wednesday, early Thursday. A little behind on responses to reviews and thank you so much! I've officially hit 400 reviews!**

**Love you guys!**

_**The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and must therefore be treated with great caution.**_

_**J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone**_

When I get back to the Training Center, I head up to my room. I'm not surprised to find that Finnick is waiting there for me. We shower—and by now it feels routine, like some rite of passage when we're done being whored out.

I've relayed my message by the time we get out, and I'm stretched out on the bed to relax a bit. "Her interview is tomorrow," Finnick says as he puts on his shirt.

I furrow by brows at him, "Is she capable?"

He shrugs his shoulders, "Good as she's going to be for awhile. She'll do better at _home._" If only it was really their home they'd go back to—together. But he'd be in the Districts again, and well…Appearances have to be kept all around.

It's a few minutes before I notice him staring at me, "What?" I ask sharply.

He sits down heavily beside me, pushing his hair back from his eyes, "I know it's wrong of me, but I'm glad Triton did what he did."

I shut my eyes, "Why should you feel bad about it? It was his choice. He took a chance, he could have made it."

Finnick shakes his head as he lays down beside me, "I would have thought that, but he—he asked me to help Annie remember him how he was before the games. I knew then he wasn't coming back, but I couldn't even—didn't even try to talk him out of it."

I open my eyes back up and look at him, "He died for her. Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, he did. And I'm glad too." I don't say anything, but he goes on. "If he hadn't killed Amber…" He pauses, "She could swim."

…

It's awful going back for the interview, because I know how she feels. Under normal circumstances you're half- crazed. I stand in the wing, instead of going to my seat. Annie is a little wild eyed, but she's doing okay—she's not even medicated. I thought medication was the only way they were going to get her on the stage, but she's doing good—at least for right now.

"Finnick says after this I can go home," her eyes look at me out of her childish face. She's lost so much weight, and been sick that she looks younger than ever. Her gown hugs her upper body then poofs out some at the bottom, a perfect sea green like her eyes. It seems to shimmer and move like the ocean waves. She's dressed modestly, and I'm glad. I don't want anyone looking at her the way they're looking at me.

I'm just preparing to take my seat while Finnick, Mags, Garrett, and Coral move up to get in queue to be introduced. I can see the way that Coral glares at me, like she's imagining what she'll do to me with a fork the next time we're alone.

I'm just wishing Annie luck when I see a man come across to her. I can feel a jolt as I see him, I remember what the presence of someone like him means. It means that someone has shown interest in Annie. He nods his head, "After the interview, President Snow wishes to meet with you Ms. Cresta."

She can't even speak and when she looks at me, she starts to shake. The crowd is roaring as Finnick and the others are rising up, she's being pulled along to rise up with him. She's clinging to me, dragging me with her, "What's he want?" She barely whispers it.

I can't save her. I saved her from the arena, watched her go mad—but now that she has some semblance of sanity and control, someone wants her. Finnick will hate me, I know it—but it's my only hope of saving her again. I take a deep breathe, the words burning in my throat and I hate myself for it. The sounds above us are rising, so I practically yell it, "How did it feel to have Triton's head in your lap? Did that feel like winning Annie?"

The effect is instantaneous as she rises up. Not even the screams of adoring fans can stop the horrid noise that she makes—half scream and half fury. It's the scream of a being damned to the hell of tortured mind. I grab a hold of the wall, holding on as I listen to her scream. I make myself move and find a screen. She's screaming her head off, the tears are falling down her face. She's half-crazed, sobbing and her clothes in tatters. Her eyes are wild and she's making the most horrid sounds I've ever heard. But I keep my face set in stone, because I did this to her. She was doing better—it wouldn't have lasted long though. Not after they passed her around the Capitol a few times.

Now though, now they'd remember Annie Cresta—the girl who went mad on stage. They would never forget her, never want her or touch her. I wish I could have saved her some other way, but this…this was the only way. She'd have ended up going mental again, probably on some guy as he tried to have sex with her—only he might have killed her, or some "accident". It was better that she be protected by this cloak of madness, it gave her relative safety.

I turn around, and I see some of the other Victors staring at me. No doubt some of them heard what I said to her. I raise a quizzical eyebrow, "Are you surprised?" They divert their eyes, but it's written clearly on their faces. No one is surprised that Johanna Mason did something so cruel.

…

I'm in my room, and I know no one is coming. Finnick will be calming Annie down. They had to sedate her, just to get her off the stage. But no one wants her now, everyone is talking about that crazy girl from District four—like she doesn't even have a name anymore. I guess it's better that way though, no one will know or think to ask for her.

I pour a glass of wine, and then another. The red of it reflect off the wall, off the ceiling. All I can think about is blood when I see it. I find myself shaking, the glass shattered in my hand. The blood mixes with the wine and falls to the floor.

I take my time, picking each sliver of glass out because the physical pain is better than the tortuous path my mind is taking tonight.

…

My brown dress has a plunging neckline that dips all the way to my belly button—stuffs been taped and pushed in ways it's never been before to keep my breasts from falling out. I'm hugged so tightly in it, I'll be lucky to breathe. God forbid, I have to go to the bathroom—I'd never get this dress up without ripping it.

I'm standing by myself over in a corner, after having disentangled myself from another group of well-wishers when I see Finnick. He's walking over to me, and he's glowering a bit. I know he knows now, Annie must have told him.

He stands beside me for a few minutes saying nothing as he finishes off another glass of wine. "Not going to speak to me then?" I accuse.

"Is there anything left to say on the matter?" He shoots back.

"Nothing at all. I'd do it again," I quip.

He looks away from me, and I feel my own anger rising. "You hurt her," he says it softly before turning to look at me."

I stare into his eyes definitely, "I know."

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" His lips are thin, and pale as he stares at me.

I use the phrase that we've come to use when there's more to the information or the story than we can tell—or that's safe to tell, "All I care to talk about."

He covers his eyes for a minute, and then the anger is passed. "Fine then, Johanna." I can tell he's mad still, I don't think I've ever heard him call me Johanna before.

Time goes on in silence, and we—neither of us—are inclined to move or do more than glower from our corner. Finnick's voice breaks into my thoughts though, "Why is Raven DeCroix staring at you?"

My head snaps up, "You know him?" I search his face.

He looks incredulous, "Who doesn't?"

"Don't be snarky," I retort.

"Look who's talking!"

"But snarky looks good on me," I smile at him tentatively.

"Keep thinking that," he takes another sip of his wine. "He's in charge of supplying the peacekeepers with what they need, and some other stuff." He sips again, as the depth of what it means seeps into me. Raven is in deep with Snow, with the Capitol. "He seems interested in you. Do you know him?" Finnick studies me carefully. I know what he's saying, all a part of the secretive way we've learned to communicate. He wants me to get to know him.

"I do," I say reluctantly.

"He's filthy rich," he continues. "He could give you whatever you wanted, I bet he'd be quite generous with trinkets and jewels." He'd be a well of information, an invaluable asset to the Rebellion. His plans could change the course of what we're doing forever.

"Maybe, I'm not interested," I say gruffly. Begrudingly, I like him somewhat. He's nice for being who he is, and even nicer now that I know what he does…But I can't help but hate him for it. He's Capitol, but at the same time…the way my body responds to him…the kindess in his eyes, and the gentle way he held me as I cried. I don't understand him, and I don't' like things I can't understand.

"Your choice, but I know some other girls who'd die to have him pay attention to them like he's paying attention to you."

"I need some air," I set my glass down and walk off. I shouldn't have come to this party tonight, not that I had much choice. I wander around, trying to find a way to get some fresh air. Finally, I find a secluded balcony that seems to be forgotten about behind curtains covering glass doors.

II take a few deep breaths, before I stop. I'm afraid if I breathe much deeper, my breasts are going to fall out of this dress. I lean on the railing and look out at the Capitol lights. I hear his footsteps, and I don't turn around. "What do you want?"

"I was looking for you," I feel his breath hot on my neck. His body isn't quite touching mine. I feel the quivers of excitement run through me.

I turn toward him and place my hands firmly on his chest and push him back. "Found me, you can leave now." I glare into his face, but it's much less fierce than I intended.

He grabs me roughly and pulls me to him, and his lips are pressed against my ear. "I bought you," I feel a weird sensation. But he continues, "I have a certain…position. I'm to be kept happy, and I told Snow that I wanted you at my leisure that I don't like to share. You can come and go as you like to keep up appearances, but nothing's required of you. But you won't have to go around anymore…" He let's go of me and back away.

I stare at him for a long moment, my breasts heaving. He's saved me. Part of me hates him for it, for owing him. Another part of me hates him because I can't get information from anyone now. But another part of me… "Why?" I ask. My voice is low.

"You know why," he says. And I do or at least, I think I do.

He turns to go. I watch as he turns and so many conflicting emotions hit me. He's saved me. Days ago, I would be happy—but now I'm just confused. He doesn't even require anything of me—just the way he treats the Avoxs. And he's got information, and he's kind. And some stupid feminine part of me is yearning for him, and wanting to please him.

"Raven," I say it gently. When he turns to me, I press myself into him and my lips are hungry. I feel like a woman who hasn't had food for days, like—Ugh, I don't even know. I stop trying to think about it, I just pull him tighter to me as I back up against the balcony.

My fingers loose his belt, and undo his zipper. He pulls away from me quickly, but my mouth is still hot on his neck. "What are you doing?" He half laughs and half moans.

"Do I have to draw you a diagram?" I retort. "You're a big boy, I'm sure you can figure it out." It's my turn to suppress my sounds as his lips trail down the plunging neckline to my belly button. His hands drop down as I lean back against the railings as my knees feel suddenly weak. His hands slide under my dress, and he pushes the fabric up roughly. When it gets to my thighs, it's so snug it doesn't want to go up very well—but he's un-phased by the difficult dress.

We melt together, the sounds of the partiers just beyond the glass excites us. At any moment, anyone could walk in—not that I really care. His lips slips down that dip again as I lean my head backwards. It's strange to be trusting him so much. Sitting on he ledge of a balcony, when any of our…frenzied movements could send me over. But as my head leans back and I can see the city lights from upside-down eyes, all I can think is what a way to die.


	64. Guilty as Charged

**Thank you for all the reviews! I will be replying to all of them or most all of them this weekend that I hadn't gotten to yet! Love you guys ^_^**

_**Did you try to live on your own**_  
><em><strong>When you burned down the house and home?<strong>_  
><em><strong>Did you stand too close to the fire<strong>_  
><em><strong>Like a liar looking for forgiveness from a stone?<strong>_

_**When it's time to live and let die**_  
><em><strong>And you can't get another try<strong>_  
><em><strong>Something inside this heart has died<strong>_  
><em><strong>You're in ruins<strong>_

_**21 Guns by Greenday**_

I collapse against his shoulder, breathless with my legs still wrapped around his waist. I can still see the city lights glimmering behind my eyelids, feel his hot breath against my skin as his fingers run through my hair. I ease myself down until my feet touch the floor again. I push the dress down my thighs until it falls the rest of the way to the floor. Raven's just watching me with a content look. "What?" I ask, as I straighten my hair.

He shrugs his shoulders as he fixes his clothes, "You seem…content. I like seeing you like that." I don't respond because I have nothing to say really. "Do you want to go home?"

Home. He says it just like that, inviting me to his place into his life and offering me a home. If any other Capitol lips had uttered it, I would be convinced that it was a lie—but with Raven, I can't be sure. A part of me feels that the invitation is genuine. But it doesn't really matter does it? He's bought me. I need him for information, and he's…safe and comfortable. I'm not sure if that's good or bad, to be honest. "Let's go," I reply.

We slip back into the ball room and a few eyes land on us, taking us in. With other…men, I have flirted and shown very little actual physical affection. Maybe it's the way they dismiss it with their eyes as just another fling, or maybe it's because Finnick raises an eyebrow at me re-entering the room with Raven. Maybe it's just because I'm brash and like to make a scene. My hand finds my way into his, and people are turning to look at us when I stop and turn to him.

I bring my hand up to the back of his head and push him down towards me violently. I've no qualms about making a spectacle, let everyone know that I'm no longer to be sold—that Raven owns me—which means, that I own him. I press my lips into his hungrily into his, not even suppressing the cry that reaches my lips. My body melts up against his until I can feel my back being arched backwards to reach him, before I break it off breathless.

Enjoy that, I think as I turn to face them. Finnick raises his glass slightly in approval, and I flash a brilliant smile before I melt back up against Raven, "You said we were going home?"

…

I get settled into his home, all of my Capitol things are moved over and my other personal effects. I get to enjoy another day with him before I'm being sent back to District seven with the rest of the mentors.

He takes me to the station and kisses me goodbye. I feel all the cameras flash in my face. I know what some people in my District will think, but I don't care really. I know why I'm doing this—for information, that's the only reason. I keep repeating it in my mind as he kisses me goodbye again. "I'll send for you soon," he says. I nod as I board the train and watch as he waves goodbye.

I sit down with Blight, who's got a blanket wrapped around himself tightly. I can see him shaking, and I reach out my hand to him. "I'm sorry, I didn't tell you," I offer.

He holds on to my hand and time passes with not a word said. I know he's not angry, but there is something wrong with him. I take in the paleness of his skin, the sheen of sweat, and the shivers. I don't know what could be causing this. Had he been drinking too much and now as suddenly coming off of it? Was he just sick? For the first time, I feel genuinely worried with what was—is going on with him. But it's useless to prod, he'll never tell me until he's ready.

As the train rolls down the tracks, it pulls me ever closer to home. But…really, is it home anymore? There's no one waiting for me but the other victors. There's no family, nothing. All that's waiting for me is emptiness and regret. Back home, Eve and Caine are lying in their graves—side by side. Their condemning eyes covered for forever, but I can almost hear their voices as we get closer. There's something about the dead—it's like you think death makes them instantly know everything. Maybe that's not true, but it feels like it. They know what I did to them, and why they're not home, at least not alive—why neither of them are capable of keeping their promise to the other. I knew it was easy for them to die, knowing that the other was going to take care of the other's family. They had no doubt they could make it home, and I had destroyed that.

How long had Caine's sweetheart cried? How long had her family and siblings mourned the loss of tessarae? The loss of a strong worker who would have married and took care of their daughter? Who is left to protect Acanthus now? Who would take the blows for him and make sure his tessarae isn't taken at the Community Center?

What could I do though? If I helped, a target would be painted on their backs. Best to let them starve or anything other than helping them and securing them a death sentence.

…

When we arrive, it's late night. Blight takes off for home, but I tell him to go on without me. I stand there for a few minutes, before I start walking down the deserted streets. I can see faces looking at me through the windows, but I act like I'm oblivious to them. I make my way out to the graveyard of tributes. I move my way through the unforgiving lines of graves and pause for a moment to touch Liam's marker before heading on to the two freshest graves.

When I approach them, I see they're not forsaken. There's flowers carefully placed around Caine's grave, and a few around Eve's. I can see the hollowed out spot at the foot of the graves from the kneeling of visitors. I stare at the graves, trying to convince myself that they would understand. But they wouldn't. In their situation, a year ago—I had chosen life at the cost of my soul. It had destroyed my family. Maybe it as better that I got them killed, at least the ones they loved were safe. But if they starved…that would be my fault too.

I stand there for hours. I want to say something to them, but I feel stupid trying to think of something to say out loud. There's nothing I can do, nothing at all. The more I stand here, the more futile I realize it is. All I'm going to do is destroy myself, I made the choice. I chose Annie, now I have to buck up and deal with it.

…

Weeks pass at home, Blight seems to be doing a little better. Haemon makes him come stay with them until he's doing well enough to go back to his own home. For awhile, fear grips my heart that he's just going to get worse—but when I've reached the point of asking him what's wrong, he starts to feel a little better.

I attend to my own business and my own ways. I come and go as I please. I read, I exercise, and I carve. And I watch. I watch each week as Caine's sweetheart—Lila goes to the graveyard. She keeps the grave well-kept, and the flowers fresh. I see her face lined with sorrow as she comes back.

Acanthus, Eve's brother goes out daily. Sometimes, he stays there till curfew and sometimes he goes for only a few minutes. I see he's taken up working in the forest as often as he can without ditching school—which is mandatory. And if I go into town, he never fails to meet my eyes. Somehow, I almost think he knows what I've done.

I put myself into seclusion a lot. I'm not comfortable with the town's people and they dislike my very publicized dealings with Raven DeCroix. Even here, it's become known that I'm with him—though they don't know the details. Add that to their fear of me—and their pity of me, and there's nothing left for me to like of them or them of me.

The dreams come every night without fail. I never know who's going to be in it. Sometimes it's Eve and Caine, sometimes it's some of the others from my games. Sometimes, I see the lives of people I've never met mourning the son, daughter, lover, sibling of theirs that I've killed. There is no shortage of dreams, of horror. Even Annie is there, and Finnick with his accusing eyes. I wonder if she'll ever be okay again? Will any of us victors ever be okay again?

Raven calls to tell me the train will pick me up tomorrow—a month since I left him. He tells me how much he misses me, how glad he'll be to see me…All I can think of is how I'll be far away from Eve and Caine's presence. Maybe time and space will stop their eyes from watching me. If nothing else, it'll stop me from standing in front of their graves without a word to explain myself.


	65. Raven's Call

**Ugh, so sorry this is so late and shorter than I wanted. Lots of stuff happening. I live in the deep south of the states (Georgia) we had some storms and my net got fried. We specifically haven't had anything major-Thank God! Prayers out to anyone and everyone affected.**

**But yes, net is finally back and I'm in charge of 24 tributes, 24 authors now. So everything is finally evening out there thanks to the wonderful help of Alex and Bells! I hope you'll check out Tears of Blood, I'm a good deal nervous about running it but I'm excited!**

**But after this, I think EVERYTHING will be back to schedule as long as the weather doesn't do anything. **

**Again, I apologize for the inconvience and I hope you'll forgive me! Tomorrow I'll be updating Districts of Hunger, then I'll be updating this, Tears of Blood and Districts of Hunger again on Saturday!**

_**Anxiety does not empty tomorrow of its sorrows, but only empties today of its strength.  
>Charles Spurgeon<strong>_

By the time the light seeps in the edges of my window, I'm nearly bounding out of bed. I've struggled to sleep—between the dreams and the waiting, I've been in misery. Who would have ever thought that I would find refuge in the Capitol? I can barely believe it myself.

I bid goodbye to Blight, Nicholas, Haeomn, Igor, and Adam. Blight still looks pale, but better than he has for the last month. I ask him if he needs anything while I'm there, and all he does is give me an envelope to give to an Avox to deliver. I took the letter away for safe-keeping as they each tell me goodbye, and that all that they want for me to bring me back is myself in one piece.

When I get on the train, the tension is almost palpable. I begin pacing up and down when I see Eve and Caine's old rooms. This train is where I began to get to know them—when they first became real to me. I can hear Eve's joking tone, the sweet low voice of Caine when he talked about the future that was so near to coming true…The moments that I groomed them for slaughter. One word, one look from Finnick had swayed my loyalty from them.

The hours creep on, as my body begins to sweat. I keep hearing snatches of their voices, but every time I turn they're gone. The sky grows dark and shadows leer at me. My eyes are heayy, and my body is shaking. I sit don too weak kneed to stand.

Closing my eyes, I rub at them. I've been up for thirty-six hours straight, but despite my bodies protests it won't give in. I breathe deeply and open my exhausted eyes. My heart thuds loudly as I fall backwards on to the floor—I let out a scream as I begin crawling backwards.

It can't be, it can't be! But as much as I blink, they don't disappear. Eve and Caine advance towards me—in their full prime, unwounded and glorious as they were in the early parts of the game. They stare at me and advance with a knives drawn. I stumble and they're on top of me. I scream as loudly as I can as the knife comes down at me, closing my eyes from the sight of my own blood.

I feel someone shaking me, jarring me back to my senses and when I open my eyes I see familiar brown eyes staring at me. A year ago he comforted me, and now he's here again trying to bring me to my senses—but I can't do this, I can't let him comfort me. Is this even real?

Just as soon as I think it, his eyes begin to pour blood. His body falls over me and I'm trapped under him. I scream and scream, but some odd pressure holds me down. A sharp jab radiates from my arm, and an odd taste fills my mouth. It's not exactly taste, but rather a scent—It's hard to explain. That's when the word hits me. I know what this is, it's morphling.

…

I float up to a brilliant light over and over again before arms hold my head back under. I'm too powerless to fight so the suffocating feeling pervades. Part of me wants to stop, let myself give up and welcome the darkness—the numbness, but there's something that a part of me cries out for that makes me struggle to the top of my drug induced delirium. I don't know what it is, but there's snatches of it here and there. A soft scent of cinnamon. A soothing touch. Words that don't make sense that still bring happiness and peace to me.

I feel like a ragdoll, unable or too uncaring to try to move my limbs properly. When I start to surface finally all I can feel is a sense of weakness. My eyes flutter open, and I see that Raven is there beside me. He looks tired and worried, and it takes him a minute to realize I'm awake.

"Johanna, it's okay. Your okay, I'm here." He strokes my damp forehead and I find myself leaning into his touch. It's then that the soft smell of cinnamon strikes me—it's coming from him. "You were sick, hallucinating. A fever. You haven't been sleeping have you?" The drugs take away the fierce edge of myself so that all I do is nod. "Is it the dreams?" His brows is furrowed with concern when he asks. I nod my head again, "Oh, Johanna…."

He pulls me to him and I wrap my arms around him. He feels so warm and real after all the dreams, all of the morphling. I pull myself to him until I almost melt into him. He whispers kind things, sweet things into my ear about how he'll never leave me, how he'll be there every time I wake up from a dream if I'll let him.

…

The dreams come and go, but he's there to comfort me after each one. It takes a week before I'm back to "normal". One less vivid dream a night, I can deal with. He sets me up in his house. I'm given full run of the whole place. I can do as I like, I can even come and go as I like—not that I want to. I know though that over time I'll have to use that for the sake of the rebellion. I'll have to develop patterns and make it look routine that I go out rather than never leaving here.

The most shocking thing about being kept by him is that he gives me direct access to all of his money in the form of a card with my name on it. Through him, every door and every venue is unlocked in the entire Capitol.

I don't realize the level of freedom I'm given until I realize how well the people of the Capitol treat me. We go to parties—not because I want to, but because people drink. When people drink, they talk…and I'm in the perfect position to hear all their little sordid lives. Who expects a stupid little district girl to understand it anyways?

Everyone wants to know how we fell in love—what's our story. How did we get so lucky as to find each other? I defer to Raven every time, because I find it hard to explain since the warmth I feel toward him is not love. However, each and every time he tells with remarkable depth how he first glimpsed me during the chariot rides. He talks about how he was drawn to me—because there seemed so much more under my exterior than most people assumed. He says he wasn't surprised when I fought so hard—that he knew how badly I wanted to survive by the look in my eyes at the interviews. I'm amazed even then how he saw me when few people did.

He tells how he fell in love with me, how I resisted him for so long because I was used to being alone. He tells them it was me who came to him and let him know that I wanted to try this—all lies. But they are necessary lies. His story has made me loved by them—they chat with me as one of them as if I know their secrets already. They assume I know everything about their lives, all the details that I'd never even heard before. I may be brusque and angry in demeanor, but they tolerate and adore me because Raven loves me. They accept me because of him, because the girl he loves can't be that bad.

Once again he's given me a distinct advantage of all the victors. Doors are beginning to open to me that have never been opened before and the most dangerous part of the rebellion is about to begin for me.

Now that I've gained access into their lives as an equal, I have to relay the information and when necessary steal it without getting caught. The secrets I've learned so far are nothing compared with what's to come—with what I could find out for the Rebellion.

As I lay here in his arms, his soft breathing echoing in the silent room I realize how far I've come. I had no cause, too many strings to tie me to life and from doing anything about how I was being treated. When everything was stripped away, I realized just how much of a burden it was to live like this. When there's no one waiting for you, no one left that you love you find it so much easier to fight for yourself—because you're the only one that can be hurt by it.

I've been hurt before. I have lived for love, and still lost…But now, I'll live to see Snow overthrown. Even if it's with my dying breath, I'll make sure he falls. I want him to know what justice feels like, I want him to feel my vengeance when his carefully constructed world crumbles down.


	66. Unearthed

_**Got a secret**_  
><em><strong>Can you keep it?<strong>_  
><em><strong>Swear this one you'll save<strong>_  
><em><strong>Better lock it, in your pocket<strong>_  
><em><strong>Taking this one to the grave<strong>_

_**The Pierces "Secret"**_

Of course, I don't really love him and he doesn't really love me. I mean, how pathetic would that be?

However, in the Capitol there are things that are socially acceptable and there are things that are not. I find it quite shocking, because I thought anything goes here. I'm still not entirely convinced otherwise. It's fine for someone to see a Victor and have a fling—even if they're paying for it as long as everyone can plausibly deny they are paying for the Victor. Sure everyone knows they are paying for it, but they don't like to admit or observe that. Someone with Raven DeCroix's status can't have a live-in paid for Victor. That's how it was determined we "fell in love." Give them a story to believe, that sounds enchanting and they'll believe it over the dirty truth any day.

So Raven and I are "in love."

…

Raven only goes out for a few hours at a time. His business doesn't keep him away very long. He lets me do as I want. I make it a habit of going out and doing things at different places in no set pattern—that way there's nothing suspicious. If there's no pattern, then there's nothing strange.

I have no official mission yet—just gathering information. I'm supposed to gather as much as I can about him and what he does. I have an unprecedented ease of access to him. We're not just flinging, I'm living with him. I'm his socially accepted lover. I have full access to his house, and each day he's gone I take advantage.

I have about three hours assured that he won't be home during the day. To be safe, I decide I'll only search for two hours. I begin in our room. I take time moving furniture, checking floorboards, pockets of coats, the boards under the bed, the rafters, drawers, and even light fixtures. Our room seems to hold nothing of vital importance. There's a few letters from an old friend, and one sealed only with a pair of ruby red lips. There's one photograph so worn that it's barely visible. Nothing that can help me though.

The next four days, I spend checking the upstairs rooms. It's a miracle it only took that long, as this place is a mansion. Though each room is well-kept, there's not much content to them.

Raven is home for the weekend, and though I'm itching to look for more stuff my body decides that it's itching for something else…

…

Though we're invited to several parties, we don't attend a single one. Raven teaches me how to cook something called crepes, and I can't get enough of them. The one thing that I hate about staying with him is the clothing rules. Since the games, I've really not minded not having clothes—but he's adamant that I have to have clothes on if we go to the ground level. I tried arguing about it, but he points out finally that the Avoxes have suffered enough. All my arguments are invalid after that.

Sunday rolls around, and the dim sound of ringing fills my ears. I burrow down deeper into the covers as Raven shifts away from me. I hear his rich voice, "Hello?" He makes some sort of noise before pulling the pillow off my head, "It's for you."

"I don't have friends," I grow back as I try to pull the pillow back over my head.

"Here that Finnick, she says your not her friend."

I jump up, and grab the phone away from him so quickly that it makes me dizzy. "Fin," I say quietly waiting to hear his voice. When I have good dreams it's his voice that comforts me, or Liam's or my mother's. Finnick is the only voice that comes from someone living.

"Hey," he laughs. "So I see you decided you liked the trinkets." It's part of the code. I liked the secrets, the benefits that Raven was offering. It's true along with that pesky little fact that my body was drawn to him like a moth to flame.

"What can I say, I was always a fan of shiny things." Using the word shiny meant that I've had no luck so far.

"Well, you'll get something in the end."

"Definitely," I laugh. "When will I see you again?"

"I'll be in town next week," and for a short time we're both silent. There's so much I can feel in that silence. It's comfortable, it's real. It's like sitting comfortably with an old friend.

I brace myself for my next words, "How's Annie doing?"

He's silent, and I can almost see his fingers fidgeting. "She's doing…okay." There's so much that he's not saying in that. But I can't ask him more. Though I'm sure Raven's line isn't bugged, Finnick's more than likely is though.

We carry on talking for another hour, before I let him go with promises to see him as soon as he's in town. When I hang up the receiver, I sit there for a long time unmoving as I chew my nails. Things aren't the same between us quite. I know that even though he has come to understand why I did what I did that it still bothers him. Good intentions aren't enough some time. But the strain of how bad Annie really is…that's what makes things even worse. I can hear the tiredness in his voice, the anxiety that he's dealing with everyday. I remember how fragile I was when I came home, and Annie was nowhere near as stable as I was. I don't even know how Finnick faired after his games…I'd never even thought to ask until this very moment.

…

When Raven leaves for work again on Monday, I continue on my search. It takes an hour to check the stairs, then I take the full two hours of looking in the kitchen. I could have been done much sooner, but I was distracted by snacks. Besides, it was easy enough to explain why I was rummaging around if he walked in.

Tuesday finds me inthe sitting room. It was mere whim that convinced me to come here instead of looking in the library/office. I search the upholstery, the ceilings, the drawers…But it's not until I roll the carpet back to check the floor that I find something. It's situated under a heavy chair. It's not until the chair and rug is moved that I finally see that the board is not quite lined up right. It's something you wouldn't notice if you weren't looking for it.

It takes a few more minutes before I find a spring that causes the section of floor to pop up. Underneath it, I see a large safe postioned opening up. It's thick and heavy. I push my hair out of the way as I examine it. It's got a large dial. Further examination proves there's no way to get in without possibly using explosives—which would obviously show I've been in the safe—or by breaking the code.

I replace everything exactly how I find it, before Raven gets home. I situated myself on top of the chair that covers the safe contemplating how I'm going to get into it.

…

When he leaves, I go downstairs and grab a glass. Carefully shutting the door and locking it, I begin removing everything to get to it. I lay on my side and place the glass against the thick door of the safe. It takes some adjusting, but I can finally hear something like a faint clicking. It takes a long time until I'm finally able to feel and hear how it sounds when the dial has chosen the right number.

I barely get everything straightened up in time for Raven to get home.

…

Finally, I figure out how to get in. I promptly shut the door and try again. Then I repeat it. I'd much rather be looking at what's inside, but I need to make sure I can get back in tomorrow, the next day, and the day after.

The next day, I can barely contain myself until he leaves. As soon as he does, I make myself wait fifteen minutes before I begin. When the knob clicks into place, I pull the door to the safe open. My heart is pulsing loudly as I removed the papers. There's stacks and stacks of them.

I thumb through the stacks. There's dossiers on just about every peacekeeper. There's also files on every government official and person of note in the town. There's even one about Raven—but I save it for later to read. Another stack has figures of how many peackeepers are where, what the expected pattern is of moving them, and codes to different channels and systems.

The more I browse the papers, the more I realize that Raven probably isn't supposed to have these or at least not have them here.

I try to remember as much as I can, but it's futile. There's no way that I can remember all of this or even most of it. There has to be away to copy these files and get them to the Rebellion without cluing Raven in that I've seen them.

Even though it pains me, I put everything away. I take a lot of time making sure the room looks just right before I head upstairs. There has to be a way to do this. These files could really help our side, well that's not true—it would help our side without a doubt.

There's only one thing left to do. I have to wait for Finnick to get here and see if he knows how I can do this without tipping anyone off.


	67. Together

_**The Sith Code as taught by Darth Bane:**_

_**Peace is a lie, there is only passion.  
>Through passion, I gain strength.<br>Through strength, I gain power.  
>Through power, I gain victory.<br>Through victory, my chains are broken.  
>The Force shall free me.<strong>_

By the time Raven gets home an hour later, the plan has fully formed in my mind. I've got to find a way to get Finnick alone—where no Capitol bugs or eavesdropping would be. There are few places that are safe—that I know of at least. The obvious choice is the best one.

When Raven gets home, I'm standing in the kitchen eating a bowl of ice cream—a particular favorite I've discovered in the Capitol. He kisses the tip of my icy nose as he bids me hello. It's part of his way to treat me like this—familiar little gestures that become routine enough that it's easy to do them in public. My natural response is for my lips to find his quickly. Already, in this short time—it's the way things are. There's a warm burning in my chest as I go back to my ice cream, but no amount of eating the smooth food puts out the fire in my chest.

The evening passes in much the same way as it always does. I curl up with a good book until the pages fade away and memories take over instead. Raven always lets me muse awhile before he bothers with the old phrase, "A penny for your thoughts?"

"There aren't pennies anymore," I shoot back with less fevour than usual. Typically, I keep my thoughts to myself but today I almost feel compelled to say more. Finally, I give in to it—but only a little. "I miss them," it comes out wistful and soft. He doesn't ask who I mean—maybe he even knows. Maybe he just knows better than to push his luck.

We sit in silence, but I don't' resist as he pulls my head to his shoulder and strokes my hair. "Did you ever think about growing it back out?" The mellow tones fall over me and I close my eyes for a moment soothed.

"Aren't you afraid I'll strangle you?" I smirk.

"If you were going to, you'd have done it by now."

I shrug my shoulders, "That's what you think. Shows how well you know me," I feel his lips kiss the top of my head. I use the affection he's showing me to ease into the next conversation. "I want something Raven…" Though I'd rather be blunt and demanding, I have to be cautious. This is my only chance at this. I can't ruin it even if I have to beg and grovel to have it.

"Anything you want," he answers without hesitation.

I breathe a little easier, "Can we throw a party for Finnick when he comes?"

"I don't see why not," he says. My heart speeds up and then slows back down as I relax better now. "What kind of party?"

"I don't know," I say honestly. "Something Finnick would like."

"Oh then, the party won't matter."

I furrow my brow and glare up at him. "That's—"

He stops me by talking over me, "We both know you're the only person Finnick enjoys seeing in the Capitol."

I don't protest, but lean my head back on his shoulder and turn another page of my book. I hate letting him have the last word, even if it's true. "We should definitely have seafood and something with lots of sugar. Finnick loves sugar."

…

The rest of the day goes by in a blur as does Friday and Saturday. It's Saturday night that finds me restless and unable to sleep. I keep tossing and turning as I think of how near Finnick is to me. I imagine this would have been the same feeling I'd have experienced if Liam had won—this waiting for him to come back into my life ad hoping he'd never leave. But he'd have to leave; he'd have to go to the Capitol where I would be unable to follow—just like District Four was forever closed to me.

I wonder what's happened to him—to Annie since we last saw each other. I know it's not been that long, but it feels like years to be without him. Even in my head it sounds stupid—like I'm some vapid schoolgirl. But that's not how I mean it, so maybe its okay? He's my family—all I have left now, closer to me than Blight—and he's out there where I can't protect him. The one thing I do know is he's alive and so is Annie. That's something at least. Happiness is an illusion here in Panem. Safety is a lie. The constants are life, death, and slavery. Everything else is merely fleeting.

Thoughts swirl around in my head so fast that I can't grasp them. I know that this information is important to get out, but if we're caught—it will mean our lives. I don't care about mine. My life is a price that I'm willing to pay to bring down Snow. I would sacrifice…countless lives to bring him down, because it's what's right and my hatred demands it. But those are stranger's lives, faces I don't know or care for. The face that makes me question it is Finnick's. But I can't think like that, neither of us can. If it means our lives, even the lives of people we…care for we have to be willing even if we don't want to live afterward. No one should have to live through what we live through.

…

When I finally wake up, it's after lunch—the party starts in four hours. Verity helps me get ready. It's a beautiful dress themed after the sea on a bright day. When my fingers touch it, I almost think I'll be able to touch the delicate sea foam. I feel like part of the ocean myself in this dress. The make-up is subtle and natural, and the shoes are made of sea glass.

Verity pauses and pushes back a case, "I brought you some pearls to where, but…Mr. DeCroix's insisted that you be given this." She hands me a thin rectangular box.

Opening it, I find a delicate gold chain. At the end of it resides rectangular crystal, long and thin. I pick it up and as the light hits it, the walls are painted with rainbow lights. Verity explains to me, it's a prism. She helps me fasten it around my neck, and I'm finally deemed ready to do as I please.

You'd think since I was no longer at the Training Center that she would think she was no longer in control of me—apparently that's not the case. I don't know if all stylists are like that or I just got the stalker one—but she is useful. Doesn't mean we have to be friends though. Without a word of thanks, I head downstairs.

The caterers are milling around—amongst them are our own Avoxes. Orson mills around expertly, you can tell that he's been doing this for years. Esther and Joniah are terrified looking, but they're doing fine. It's their first time serving at a party—I imagine the sewers under the city aren't too particular about what you act like or do as far as propriety.

People start arriving early—which isn't the usual custom. However, since it's a party in Finnick's honour no one wants to miss out on him. No one has any idea how long he's going to be here, or when he'll show and they don't wan to miss him.

I find myself getting fidgety, and a little short in the packed in quarters waiting for Finnick to arrive. Esther comes to retrieve me for some unknown reason and leads me to the close off study.

When we walk in, I expect someone to be waiting by the way she was acting but instead we're alone. She gives me a large glass of ice water and reaches out nervously to squeeze my hand before leaving me in the room alone. She's being kind. Simple as that, making like someone wished to talk to me or something to get me out of that close-knit room. It reminds me so much of the train…of the Avox—the man whose name I'll never know. I have never understood the kindness of strangers, especially not when it means their life is on the line.

I sit in there for fifteen minutes, relaxing the mask that I've had in place before taking it up once again to go out amongst the vapid, egotistical Capitolites. Luckily, it isn't long before the door opens and Finnick walks in the door.

Even from across the room, I can see his face is lined with worry he usually doesn't have since he's just come from home. But his face breaks into a huge smile as he sees me, it's not one of his fake smiles—it's a smile that is only mine. Annie elicits a smile from him—one that is only for her, but this one is mine—only mine.

I shove my drink into someone's hand as I roughly push through the crowds toward him. His arms are wide when I run into them. I don't have to hide how I feel for him, President Snow—everyone knows no matter what I say. But they also know, he can take care of himself. There's not a way they can use him against me right now.

The warmth of him and the fresh salty smell reminds me of why I've thrown this party for him. Reluctantly, I pull myself way and look up into his eyes letting him know that at some point we've got to talk—alone.


	68. The One

**I have stressed and stressed about this very important chapter. I hope it comes out right. I hope you all like it. Wish me luck off to see the 70th Anniversary of Casablanca on the big screen in Jacksonville! Two hour drive each way. **

**Hope you liek this and please review! Next update on Thursday! DoH will be tomorrow, might be a little late going up depending what time I get home.**

_**Why shouldn't truth be stranger than fiction? Fiction, after all, has to make sense.  
>Mark Twain<strong>_

My patience wears thin as the party goes on and on. Everyone wants to talk with Finnick and I. I have barely a moment to speak to him at all which infuriates me further. It's only his mere presence and the allure of finally getting to have my friend to myself that helps me hold my tongue.

By midnight, I've had it and the only responses I give are glares or snappy retorts. But Finnick continues to be charming as ever. He's gracious to whoever talks to him, and he smiles that smile I know only too well. It's the mask that he puts in place for all of the ones who "love" him, who are so easily fooled but whatever lie he tells them. It's then that I notice a middle-aged, extremely sugerically altered woman who keeps touching his arm.

Her long nails keep touching his skin, and he smiles at her that way over and over again as she leans close to whisper into his ear. I keep my eyes on here like a hawk ready to swoop down and kill my prey. She seems alarmed by my attention, and clings to Finnick further. I can feel my blood nearly boiling, and it's only the pressure of Raven's arm suddenly around my waist that keeps me from clawing her eyes out.

Nearly everyone else has gone, but she stands there. I feign sleep so obvious that even she has to take the hint. But she hesitates and reaches a hand out for Finnick, and that's when I've had enough.

"Finnick's staying here tonight," I say icily. It wasn't planned or even mentioned, but I can't allow this to happen under my roof—I can't allow him to be taken like this!

She straightens her backbone, and stares across and up at me. "There must be some mistake, Finnick is visiting me." She smoothes her hair that's so styled it couldn't move if it tried.

I can feel the glass of wine in my hand, and I'm just about to smash it so that I can cut a crimson line across her neck when I hear Raven's voice.

"I'm sure there's been some mistake, Elerora. Finnick is a personal friend of Johanna's that she's been dying to have me meet. He's supposed to be staying the night with us. Johanna would be so upset if he didn't." I see her purse her lips about to say something before he finishes, "Maybe we should make a call, but I'd hate to inconvience anyone at this hour. I'd hate to have to be…" His voice falls and octave, and there's something in it that chills me to the bone. "Upset. We wouldn't want that, would we Elerora?" His voice is smooth again.

She quivers in fear and steps away quickly. "No, I would-wouldn't want that." She bids her adieus hastily and departs.

I look up at Raven's face which is completely blank as he stares after her as the door closes behind her. He doesn't say a word about backing up my play, about having to intimidate the woman. He kisses my head gently and goes to send off the catering crew.

…

It's another hour at least before the crew is completely gone. I've grown impatient as we show Finnick his room. I give me a sign that I'll be back as soon as I can before heading to Raven and I's room.

I square my shoulders trying to figure out how to not infuriate him, but get some time alone with Finnick. When he glances up though, he's surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean? This is my room," I retort a bit snappily.

"I got the impression you were staying with Finnick," he shoots back.

It's my turn to be taken back. "I am." I can feel the heat in my face rising, "I'm glad your as sensible in my discretions and who my preference is with."

Raven laughs heartily, "You don't have to pretend Johanna. I know you don't sleep with him like that, but if you want me to think that I'll pretend I do if that's what you want."

My fury rises. How am I supposed to be a spy if he understands and analyzes everything I do when even I don't understand it? "You—"

"Save the expletives," he jerks me to him quickly before I can slap him. His lips find mine and the anger both intensifies and leaves. I still don't know what to call it. "See you in the morning," he kisses the top of my head as I make my way back out to Finnick's room.

I want to curse him, I want to slap him…I want to jump his bones. I hate how he can drive me wild and make me so angry I could kill him. I give up trying to figure him or us out. It's not worth it.

I take off my shoes as soon as I get into Finnick's room while I shut and lock the door. "I'm staying with you, it's safe to talk here." He raises an eyebrow at me, but something about the look on my face must stop him.

He helps me out of my dress and I find my way into his shirt and then into his arms. It's so easy to remember that this is the way Liam used to hold me when I'd had a bad dream—back when there was someone who could make them go away. I try to brush the thoughts aside, because they're painful—and this is not. I feel happy in Finnick's arms.

I tell him all about what I've found in Raven's house. I lay out how I found it, and just how much there is of it that could help us. I can see his eyes widen, and his brow furrow as he processes what this wealth of information means. I fall silent, and wait for him to figure out a way for this to work. I know so little about the Rebellion. I'm just about to ask when he starts talking.

"You won't believe what I'm about to tell you," his voice is so low I can barely catch it.

"I'd believe you no matter what Fin," I stare into his eyes.

"District Thirteen still exists."

Waves of emotion pour over me. Incredulity that they're alive. Shock. Anger that they're free. Hatred because they let us be punished. Disbelief that they could have lived all these years without a word…I can't speak. I don't know whether to be happy or sad they exist. Instead I ask the most reasonable question I can muster, "So what?"

"They'll help us when we can enough people to follow."

I sit up and push my back my hair and try to contain my rage. "After all these years, they've just been waiting? Biding their time? What are we supposed to do expect them to save us when they've been cowering for years in _freedom?_" It's everything I can do not to scream. I pace the floor up and down, but it doesn't help. I look for something, anything to release my anger with. Grabbing up my heel, I throw it into the mirror and watch the glass shatter and fracture.

Finnick sits there with his arms around his knees. "That's what I said when they told me. I didn't want their help…not after I fought in the Games. They never had to. They were never punished like us, but they're the ones that can help us—the only ones. I'll use them just like any Capitol woman to get out of here."

"What do they get out of it?" I'm suspicious of them. Why do they want to help us after all these years?

"Maybe, they think Snow wants to finish them off at some point," he shrugs. "We can't be too particular if they'll help us."

"How do they think we can help them? We've got information…but what good will it do if we can't unite the districts?" I sit back down on the bed in front of him.

He's looking down at his hands, considering. "They wanted you to do it."

"Me?" I scoff.

"You have nothing left to fight for but your freedom. You should have seen the spark you lighted in the districts. They both feared you and wanted to follow you. You gave them hope that the underdog can win."

"They don't want me," I close my eyes and lean back on the bed.

"You could do it, you know."

"I'm no good at being noble. I'm selfish, and besides…to get the information I need I've got to stay here. No one's going to trust a woman who's sleeping with a man from the Capitol like Raven. Find some other puppet to do their work," I crawl back up and under the covers.

"It could be years," he sighs as he pulls me back to him.

"Don't worry, someone will come along that can do better than me. It's better I'm hated for being with Raven and feared for my games so that I can get this information. No one needs to love me but you."

"You don't have to worry about that," he flips off the light. "Don't do anything with the papers, I'll talk with Beetee how to get them out."

"Beetee?" I question.

"The man from district 3 with the glasses," he explains.

"Isn't he the one that electrocuted people in his arena to win?"

"That's the one."

I can't help but smile at the first thing that pops into my head, "I think I'll call him Volts."


	69. Katerina

**Warning: Tissue/Something to wipe your eyes with may be required for the consumption of this chapter. Yeah, I'm talking to you Nightfuries XD**

**_"Sometimes when you sacrifice something precious, you're not really losing it. You're just passing it on to someone else." _**  
><strong><em>― Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven<em>**

Sleeping with Finnick isn't the same as sleeping with anyone else. First of all, there's no sex involved but it's more than that. It's like finding peacefulness in a world where there isn't peace—basically Panem. When we finally wake up and get prepared for the day, I'm already beginning to dread him leaving. I wish I could just keep him here. But the master calls and he obeys.

I watch him leave and I feel the icy crystals forming around my heart again. I don't know how long until I'll see him again, how long until I'll have something I can do with all this information. As much as I hate it, I'm told to sit tight and wait. I don't' like doing it, but it's what helped me win my game.

I square my shoulders and go about my day with Raven. He's kinder and more affectionate than normal. I yell at him for it, I tell him I'm not a child. He doesn't say a word against me. Anything and everything I throw at him, even vases he dodges and ignores.

It's been weeks and Finnick has gone home. Things are back to normal between us as I lay in the afterglow against Raven's chest. The words slip from my mouth in my sleepiness, "Why are you so good to me? Why do you put up with me?"

He strokes my hair gently and kisses the tip of my nose as my eyelashes flutter to keep my eyes open. "You'll figure it out one day, Johanna."

…

No word has come from Volts or Finnick. I did meet Volt's demented little partner though at a party where some new invention was being shown off. Volts was there, but I never got to approach him—but the girl whose name had something to do with wire came up to talk to me. It didn't take long to realize, she was off her freaking rocker. A little nutty.

I can't help but smile as she stops and starts haltingly to Raven. Nuts and Volts. I kind of like it.

…

Finally, I'm packing up the few things that I'll be taking back to…the district with me. I don't know if I can ever call it or anywhere home again. I hold the box in my hand and run my finger along the smooth grain surface. I examine the contents again. It gets less painful each time I touch on the memories. I turn Feora's ring on my finger, and gaze again at the blue stone that reminds of the colour of the night sky when they showed her picture.

I put the memories away as Raven takes me to the train station. For a long time, we just stand there on the platform. His hands clutch around me and he promises me that he'll have me back soon. His lips crush mine and my hands weave into his hair despite the sounds of people recognizing us.

We may not really love each other. We might not mean anything to each other but a good screw…but I'll miss him. His warmth though not as comforting as Finnick's is a familiarity that I care for. When he let's me go, I rest my head against his chest before finally looking back up into his eyes. The dark depths flash at me and I wonder again what he's thinking. But I never know and probably will never know what he thinks or feels. And really, does it matter? Do I even care?

No.

…

Adam greets me at the train station. I feel a sudden lurch in my stomach, "Where's Blight?" I demand.

Adam grabs up one of my bags and starts walking. "He's okay, just feeling a little sick today."

"What's the matter with him?" I grab a hold of his arm, and yank him to me. "You know, tell me."

He looks at me unafraid and unphased, "He's having a bad day Johanna. That's all." He turns and starts walking along again, "Besides that intimidation crap doesn't work on me. Remember, I've lived with Nicholas. It'd have been easier living with the President himself than when he got home."

It's the first time that I've heard ay of them speak about when Nicholas first got home. I'd assumed he'd handled it well since no one had ever spoke of it before, but apparently not even Nicholas could get through the games unphased.

When we reach their house, I go in and see Blight is shivering in a chair—wrapped tightly in a blanket despite the warmth of the day. "Hey," I say it softly.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?" I ask even more gently.

"Don't act nice to me because you think I'm dying," he laughs lightly.

"Are you dying?" I feel a sharp pain close to where I once had a heart.

"We're all dying, Johanna. A little every day."

I roll my eyes, but I don't move away as his icy hands touch my check for a moment. I give him the package he'd ask me to pick up. I watch as he opens it and finds a bottle of pills. He takes one and then leans back shaking and Igor convinces me to leave so he can rest. Even Nicholas isn't playing his piano in the room.

I don't bother asking them again what's the matter, because I know they won't tell me for whatever reason.

…

I spend almost a week by myself. I catch up on some reading, do some woodwork and wait. I've gotten very good at waiting. Blight hasn't been out or feeling up to having even me visiting him for days. When I see him walk out of his house one day as if nothing had happened, I nearly ran to him.

Nearly.

I'm mad at him, I keep telling myself. I'm mad that he won't tell me what's going on. Mad that he walks over to me as if nothing has happened. He sits down beside me as I finish carving a design on a chair. He doesn't talk but he just sits there and waits until I'm too infuriated to hold my tongue anymore.

"What are you doing here? You've made it obvious I'm not one of you." I throw down the knife and rise up onto my feet. "I'm a Victor too!" I cry out.

Blight sighs, "Did I ever tell you about Katerina?" I don't answer him, but he continues on anyways. "She won the Forty-Fifth Hunger Games. I brought her home."

"So now you're going to rub it in my face that I didn't bring them home?" I clench and unclench my fists.

"She never came home, none of us really ever come home, do we Johanna?" He looks at me with pained eyes that show he's pretending to be much better than he really is. "I'm dying Johanna. I don't know how long I have left."

I sit back down, something unmistakably sinking in my stomach. "Expect me to cry?"

"Cancer," he says gently. "I fight it, but it keeps coming back. It might not get me this time, but it'll get me in the end. I know that, I've known that for a long time." I sit there quietly with him. "I was wrong not to tell you before about this. I wanted to spare you. I wanted to spare Katarina too…"

He stands up suddenly, and wobbles for a moment. "Let's take a walk," he offers and I don't decline. We're nearly to the Victor's graveyard when he speaks again. "She was beautiful. She was wild. She was a force to be reckoned with. You remind me of her." He smiles wistfully. "I did what I had to to bring her home not that she needed much help. I watched her transform from a normal girl into a survivor. She could have survived anything."

He kneels down in front of her grave. Katerina Hevet. She lived to be seventeen. I watch as he pulls the weeds up around her grave with care and wait for him to explain further. "She did well when she got home. Her family loved her and adored her—they took care of her. She was happy. And then the note came."

I close my eyes for a moment before I begin to help pull up weeds. "Did he have her killed? Did she…refuse him?"

"No, she died before she went to the Capitol. She didn't know what the letter meant, and I told her when she asked. She was furious. She asked why I hadn't told her before. I told her it was because I cared to bring her home and I didn't want to discourage her from that. You can endure a lot of things for love. She said she deserved to have that choice and that it was her life." I watch as a solitary tear escapes the corner of his eye. "The next time I saw her she was getting ready to walk to the forest."

He brushes the dirt off his hands and I can feel the foreboding, "She walked with me. It was the first time she'd spoken to me in days. But I didn't know what to say, but finally she spoke. She told me that she'd hated to kill the people in the arena. Every night she saw their faces. Every day she said their names. She would never forget them, but she could live with that. She could definitely live with that." He pauses again, "We were in the middle of the forest. The sunlight caught her hair and made it look as if it was on fire—a fierce deep red like burning coals. She told me then," his eyes get distant as he dregs up the memory. " 'I can live with all that, but I can't live with the fact that Snow will hold my family against me. I can't do that. It's better I had died in the arena.' She touched my cheek and whispered, 'What's left of me, could have loved what's left of you.' She kissed me then she took out the knife…"

"I tried to convince her it was worth living that things would be okay. But I'll never forget what she said or how it reminds me of you. 'I don't _want_ to die. But if I live I'll have to worry about what will happen to them. He won't hurt them if he can't hurt me by it. It would just be easier if I was dead. They can just fade back into namelessness and be safe. I'm taking my life to give them theirs'." He sighs. "Well you know what happened next. They buried her quickly and quietly. Said she'd had a short illness. Her family moved back to their old home."

I watch the tears fall thickly down his face. If I had had her choice, I would have done the same. And it's stupid really to think it's brave that she did it, because it's not brave. But her act of desperation saved her family—Wouldn't I have done the same thing to save mine no matter how much I wanted to live?


	70. In Plain Sight

**Thanks so much for everything. This month, I will break 20,000 reviews in a month if I get 400 more hits! And I've hit 500 reviews. I never saw this becoming that big, and I'm pleased and humbled that everyone loves this story so much. It's near and dear to my heart.**

**Don't forget to check out the latest installment of Tears of Blood (we're just about to hit 700 reviews!)**

**One more thing, I'd love for any of you guys to check these stories out. They're by some very talented authors who haven't gotten half as much praise as they deserve!**

**Beautifully Broken by ****cherri0196**

**Learning to Love Again by ****MadBangel**

**With Our Best Lines by ****A Middle Distance Maximum**

**_Learning is always rebellion... Every bit of new truth discovered is revolutionary to what was believed before._**  
><strong><em>Margaret Lee Runbeck<em>  
><strong>

Cancer.

I learn to live with the idea of it. It stands to reason, really—everything I love is taken from me—always. As much as I don't want to admit it, deep inside of me I do love Blight like I love the other Victors. We all live on borrowed time, any moment we might just…fade away forever—just disappear or have "an accident". The only thing that keeps that from happening is how well our patrons love us in the Capitol. We have to make ourselves indispensable because it's what keeps us alive.

That's part of the reason that Raven is so key to my survival, so key to the survival of the Rebellion. His caring for me in whatever way he does, well…it keeps me safe from Snow who seems to not want to displease him. I don't know why. Maybe he's too difficult to replace, maybe he knows too much…Maybe, well who the hell cares really?

Raven calls every night. At first, I find it downright irritating but I answer the phone anyways. But after a month…two months it feels natural to hear his voice every night even if it's only for a moment. It helps me remember that I have a life in the Capitol now—that my people hate me because of it. It also gives me the best chance of survival to be endeared to someone as powerful as him.

Months go by while I'm stuck in my home that doesn't feel much like home anymore. Part of that stems from being despised for sleeping with the enemy—and the simple fact that everything I touch dies. It's not incentive to like me, not that I really care. People didn't like me before. Some things just never change.

Over time, Blight gets better again. He thinks that remission has come again—but it won't last, we all know that. He's fighting a battle that will take him in the end. A long, slow painful death…but the only other option is to stop fighting and despite how kind and frail he seems that's not something he'd do.

Finnick calls me once a week without fail, another pattern established—for comfort and so that no one ever questions why we talk so much. We chat for minutes or for hours.

Tonight, he tells me Annie is doing better, and finally he asks me when I get to see Raven again. I feel my heart stop at his mention of it. His asking means one thing—it means whatever Volts was working on to transport the documents is finished. It means that our plans our moving forward.

"I'll be there next month. Blight's coming to stay for a day or two with me and Raven," I leave off the last part—_to see if the cancer is in remission._ "Maybe you'll be in town while I'm there again?" It's more a question, a hope really.

"I've got some business to attend to in the Capitol. Some friends to see, you'll always be one of them 'Anna'." He pauses for a moment, "I heard some of the other Victors will be in town. I'd like to introduce you to some of them."

"Can't say, I like it. But I'll do it for you," I can't help but smile.

…

The month starts fresh and my bags are packed. Blight is coming with me even though his appointment isn't for a few days—all per Raven's _request._ We board the train, and it's a little less unpleasant than usual because Blight is with me.

We put our things in our rooms and eat dinner before retiring to the lounge car. It's the place where I first heard who my competitors were, the place where I sat with Wren nearly a year and a half ago. Blight flicks on the television just in time for us to hear the announcement that there will be no Victory Tour as Annie Cresta is continuing to have chronic bronchitis and pneumonia from her time in the water.

It's laughable. She was practically born in the water, but I suppose stupid people in the Capitol accept it without question. I can't help but wonder, if they question anything.

…

Raven is happy to see me, truly happy it seems rather than just happy for the cameras. He's kind and polite to Blight, like he's an old friend rather than someone he's just met. He talks to Blight kindly and they carry on a muted conversation as my mind wanders.

In just a few days, Finnick will be here or maybe he's here already. Beetee will come and we'll find a way to talk. I'll finally get to do my part for the Rebellion. The acid in my stomach churns, and my skin tingles with the excitement and danger of it. I should be afraid or terrified even because treason will make you an Avox at least. Yet, I'm not scared. I'm determined to make this work. I'm determined to get those papers back to people who know and understand them. Maybe these papers could change the tide of everything.

…

I feel welcome in Raven's home, more welcome than anywhere else in the world besides Finnicks arms. Blight goes alone to be seen, and I feel the waiting chipping away at my nerves. Will he even tell me if he's sick still?

He's always been honest with me, but never entirely truthful.

When he returns, I wring my hands lightly and stare him down. "Is it gone?"

Clear eyes meet mine, "For now."

A part of the ache in my chest moves so that it's easier to breathe, "How long?"

He sighs deeply, "Maybe five years before it comes back again."

Five years. Five years before it comes back, and that's probably only if he's lucky. Then he'll have to fight again. He'll have to fight for each mouthful of food he takes, for each day he continues to breathe—for everything.

I sit down on the couch, "What's it like?" My voice is quiet.

"It's like the Games. The fear, the sweating, the hunger, the sickness, the dreams and the pain. Just like the Games you don't escape it, you just live with it or it kills you."

….

It takes two weeks before everyone is in town at the same time. I throw another huge party that everyone shows up for. I'm on my very best behavior, smiling and making biting and scathing marks peppered with laughter. Oh how they love me for it!

It takes hours of shifting, finagling and moving around to get Beetee and Finnick alone in a downstairs room together. It's the first time I get a chance to really look at him. He's got glasses, the big obnoxious kind. He's balding, nervous little fellow. I can look at him and see he's easily far smarter than I am—he knows it and I know it. Makes me hate him.

He hobbles around until he can sit down in a chair. He collapses exhausted from moving around with the heavy boot cast his foot is in, "So what's the deal Volts?"

"Volts," he wrinkles his brow.

"Don't ask," Finnick smiles.

"Come on, we don't' have time," I retort. "Tell me how this works."

Volts lifts his crutch and detaches the rubber stopper at the bottom. Shaking out a long thin rectangular box, he hands it to me before he begins to explain. "This is a scanner, Johanna. You slide it over each sheet of paper and it'll scan them to a little device inside."

He hands it to me and I inspect it quickly. It dawns on me as I flip it back over, "You broke your foot so you could have a crutch to hide it in." It's a statement, but he still nods his head yes. That's dedication, I can't help but feel my respect for him rise a little.

"What am I supposed to do with it when I'm done? Break my leg so I can carry it around in a crutch too?" I'm half wondering, half scoffing.

"No," he reaches out his hand until I give it back to him. Turing the device on it's end, he opens up the side and pulls out a long thin rectangle. My fingers automatically go to my throat to clutch it's mirror image—the necklace that Raven gave me.

Beetee smiles, "Finnick told me about your new necklace so I created a crystal that resembles it exactly but is also capable of holding all the information you find on it."

My fingers rove over my necklace as I respond, "So I wear it around my neck and get rid of this one? Right there in plain sight?" I ask in derision.

"Yes, in plain sight. No one would think anything of something you've been given by him."

"So then what happens, I wear it around my pretty little neck until I'm caught or someone snatches it?"

"Precisely," I'm about to yell at him when he explains. "You'll know when it's time."

"Why not now?" I take the scanner back from him, contemplating somewhere to hide it.

"I don't know myself."

Great, just great. District Thirteen wants us to do its dirty work while telling us nothing. What am I? Am I just their slave too?


	71. Bittersweet

**Yeah, I'm sorry this is another short chapter. But I'd like to explain about that. When I write out a basic guide—I slot things into chapters a.k.a. natural breaks in the narrative to me. Sometimes I expect something to take about 2000 words that only takes 1000. Sometimes, I plan something that I'm sure would barely be 1500 and winds up being 2,500.**

**But there's a reason for how the chapters are—they're natural breaks before actions etc. I also prefer them when there's about to be a TIME SKIP! Which is happening now. My choice was end the chapter short, or tag on a THREE-FOUR MONTHS LATER bit. So I opted with short.**

**Thanks for keeping up with me and thank you for making this month AMAZING! I nearly made it to 25,000 hits this MONTH!**

**You guys are amazing!**

**_" This was something she would keep hidden within herself, maybe in place of the knot of pain and anger she had been carrying under her breastbone...a security blanket, an ace up her sleeve. She might never use it, but she would always feel its presence like a swelling secret stone, and that way when she let go of the rage, she would not feel nearly as empty."_**  
><strong><em>― Jodi Picoult, Mercy<em>**

Beetee shows me how to take out the crystal and put it back in. He shows me how to operate the device, how to make sure the papers are scanned. It takes only minutes, then we're back into the party before anyone at all misses us.

I can feel the device strapped to the inside of my leg, waiting for me to find a place to hide it.

As the party goes on, I get more anxious and desperate to find a place to put it that it won't be seen until I can come up with something better. People stop to ask me questions, and act as though I'm one of them until I want to pull my hair out. Finally, I shove the device into a pair of worn leather boots of mine in the front hall. No one but myself wears them, they should be safe there. Now I just have to wait until Raven's gone to hide it better.

…

Day in and day out, I head downstairs and open up the safe. I spend hours taking a sheet at a time, placing it down, and then running the bar over it. Its long and boring work.

The first time I did it, it took me days to hollow out a leg of the chair to hide the device in so that it would be safe. I was afraid each day that he'd find it and that I'd fail the Rebellion—that Finnick would be caught.

It came up in my dreams every single night, until it became a constant reminder in waking. But days went by without being caught. Then weeks transpired as I closed myself up in the study and scanned the papers as quickly as possible.

I went home for a month then returned. The device still exactly where I left it and the safe still full of the papers I wish I had time to read. My desperation makes me want to be restless to push the time frames, but I can't. I'm not the only one who depends on this. So against my own will, I take my time.

It takes months to get it all scanned, and I barely finish two days before I'm supposed to go home. I replace the papers neatly, and eject the crystal before hiding the device again until I can destroy it tomorrow.

I hurry up the stairs knowing I've only got twenty minutes until Raven is home, until I'm caught with two crystals—one around my neck and one clutched in my hand. I rush into the bathroom looking for a way to destroy it. My eyes dart around trying to find something—anything that will do the job.

After awhile, I find a heavy pair of shoes made from wood that I was given. They'll be heavy enough that if I use them with enough force, I should be able to shatter it. I secure the data crystal around my neck and lay the other on the back of the toilet. Raising my arm with the shoe as I weapon, I begin to hesitate.

I don't know why I hesitate, or why I don't want to destroy it. It was a gift from Raven, but it meant nothing to me—nothing at all. Maybe it's the thought that it's expensive—that this is wasteful. I tell myself that's the reason, but even I know that's not quite the truth. I don't know if I can destroy it…

The sound of the downstairs door opening pushes me forward. I bring my hand down violently against the crystal and cause it to shatter. I sweep up the particles, grabbing it with my bare hands and cutting my hands with the shards. I can't let him find it! He's almost here!

I can hear his heavy feet on the stairs as I run the sparkly, sharp dust down the drain, but the blood on my hands still remains.

My eyes flick up to the mirror, and I'm reminded of another time like this. I was going into the games, made into a freaking tree—forced to destroy myself in order to have a chance. It's that girl I see there. That's the answer.

I smash my hand into the glass and watch it crumple from the corners and fall down into the sink with the crimson tide of my blood. Raven rushes in and takes one look at me. I turn back to my hand, looking at the shards of glass peppered in my hand.

My hand shakes as he takes it in his and starts picking the pieces from my hand. I hear each shard clink as it hits the trashcan bottom. I'm reminded over and over again of that time where Wren tried to comfort me before the opening ceremonies…Ivan as he cleaned my hands from me smashing another mirror. I almost expect when I turn to look at Raven that it'll be Ivan instead.

But when I turn to him, it's still only Raven—no amount of wishing will change that. He looks deep in my eyes, "What happened?" But I just keep staring at him, "What's wrong?" He asks it softer.

"You remind me of someone," I say barely above a whisper as I keep staring at him. He doesn't say a word as he presses a towel to my bleeding hand and closes it. His other hand strokes the side of my head, as he coaxes me to his shoulder.

I try to imagine that his arms are Ivan's back when he loved me. But even in the fake Capitol that dream doesn't seem plausible—here where very few things are real. I close my eyes and clamp them shut tightly.

Ivan is dead. Raven is real. Raven is comforting me. My hand reaches up and touches the crystal around my neck. He'll protect me and keep protecting me—by doing that he's protecting the information that may one day mean my freedom.

…

He leaves for work, and I go downstairs in my bandaged hand holding the device. I smash the rest of it, and throw it into the fire. I sit there for two hours and watch as each little bit burns to ashes. Just like that and it's gone, no longer able to hurt me—no longer able to be used against me.

I stay there the rest of the day until Raven gets home.

…

It's our last goodbye. A sweet but bitter one. I've become more attached to him than I care to admit. He's made plans for me when I come back, but it'll be a long few months until then. I'll spend long days back in my District where I'm viewed as a traitor. They have no idea that I'm doing this for them…at least partly. For the most part, I need vengeance.

But I do love them, they are my people. But maybe that's why I would never be a good face of the rebellion. I prize my own skin highly, but numbers of sacrificing them would mean nothing to me. What are faceless numbers if there is a victory, no matter the cost? What cost would be too great to pay? I'd risk them all to get a chance to kill Snow,

I just wish it hadn't cost so much.


	72. Aversion to Hope

** And so the Rebellion lives on...**

**Special guest star in this chapter, do you know who HE is? If not, you'll find out eventually.**

**Next update is Thursday (might be a little late, FINALLY going to the movies to see HG!)**

**_The real war will never get in the books._**  
><strong><em>Walt Whitman<em>**

I pace the floor in my house. I'm exhausted of waiting, tired and furious of being kept here for so long where I can essentially do nothing. Three months back in my district, three months of sitting and waiting like a freaking cow for slaughter.

My fingers go absently to my neck to play with the necklace, I'm just waiting here with all the evidence to convict me of treason around my neck—not that they actually need proof to punish me. What good is it doing here when I can't give it to them?

But all of that ends today, at the reaping for the Seventy-First Hunger Games. I'll watch them pick some pathetic kids that don't have a chance after I squandered the lives of the only strong contenders we had. They'd been favourites from the beginning, they were declaring me the next mentor to bring home four in a row. Oh how I disappointed them—all of them.

I make my way down to the main square and up onto the stage. People mill around getting into place as my eyes take them all in. Soon two of them will be joining me, two families will start making funeral arrangements tonight.

The whole spiel about the Dark Days start and how Panem is doing this as a reminder of their kindness of not killing us all—which to be fair isn't kindness, it's just cruel. The speech keeps going and going as I sit there and stare every kid down. It's not that they're not strong, they are—but they're starving and broken. Whatever drive to live they have is outweighed by lack of training and a direct aversion to anything resembling hope.

A part of me wants to train them to fight, to be able to win—but I can't. My intentions would be clear, it wouldn't be for the games—it would be for the Capitol. Now is not the time to start having any _noble_ feelings.

The escort reaches into the bowl and pulls out that tiny slip of paper that will completely destroy a family. The new guy clears his voice which sounds oddly calm and happy in the stillness, "Ivy Gillispie!"

I see her detach herself from another girl, her bottom lip quivering as she comes out of the fourteen year-old section. I see her eyes look around for someone to spare her, but there are no volunteers in District Seven, not since Blight. Her eyes halt on a girl a few years older than her—maybe seventeen with the same features. Their eyes do not meet, the older girl keeps her face looking down at the ground—in District Seven siblings don't offer to die in their stead. We're engrained to survive even if it means letting someone else die. But even I could never have let my Greta go to the games. They'd have had to kill me. But I can't think about Greta now, Greta who will never be old enough for the reapings…

I shake my thoughts of my mind as I squeeze the girl's hand, her dark brown eyes filled with tears. She'll never make it out of the bloodbath.

They call the boy next, and he's not much better than the girl. "Henry Gavelstone!" He can't be but thirteen by the looks of him, but he comes from the fifteen year old section. He'll never get a chance to hit that growth spurt now, maybe if he had already he'd have a chance—but he doesn't.

They say their goodbyes while I go back and get my bags. Nicholas insists on coming this time with us, I think he wants to watch out for me after the emotional last games. Blight is subdued as he gives his bags to a peacekeeper to carry.

We collect the kids, pose for photographs and move them on to the train. They go to their rooms without a word, and I'm glad. I'd rather them go cry it out alone than on me. I can't handle that, I can't handle that they don't even try to hope even though I know it's futile.

…

Dinner comes and the children devour the food. Blight scolds them gently to eat slower or they'll get sick. They take his advice, but by the end they're still beginning to look a little green.

Blight accepts a cup of coffee and looks them both over, "So what kind of skills do you two have?"

Ivy squares her shoulders, and though her voice has a quaver in it she sounds stronger than earlier. "I can climb trees," she intones.

"Good job, brainless. Everyone in District Seven who's anyone can do that," I scoff.

Her cheeks flush and her eyes go down to the table. But it's Blight that calls me down calmly, "Johanna."

"No Blight, let's talk about real skills," I slam down my cup of coffee. "You know what you two are really good at?" They both look at me with alarm. "You're good at _starving_. That's what all of District Seven is good at, starving and tree-climbing. You think that's an advantage? It's not, while you can do without each of those careers can lose a lot of fat before they starve to death. There's not much more of either of you to waste away. So why don't you two just accept the fact that you're going to die. I hope you said your goodbyes."

Silence greets my ears. No tears, no explosions, no running or anything. No one moves or say anything. Most of all, no one denies it. Yet, more than anything I just feel…empty.

…

We watch the other reapings. The brutes from one and two are just as strong as ever. Four is okay, no Odair that's for sure. The male tribute from nine looks a bit better than normal. No one else stands out at all.

Blight discusses with them strategies—not much of one while Nicholas tries to tell them that it's not about skill, it's about want. That's true, it's about how bad you want it—what you're willing to do for it and honestly, they just don't want it enough.

…

We get off the train and for the first time in quite a while, Raven isn't there to greet me. I forget that it's not his place after Reapings to do it and I almost feel a sting of something like disappointment. Oh well, I'll be able to go back to his house—much more comfortable and less haunted than the Training Center soon enough..

The children are taken by Verity into rooms to dress them and make them beautiful. In Verity terms that means there will be another year of _trees. _Seriously, you'd think she'd be tired of trees by now. Panem knows everyone else is.

I make my way to my room and open the door, my heart catches in my throat and I'm running into the arms I'll never get tired of. "Fin," I cry as I bury my face into his broad chest.

"I thought I'd surprise you," he murmurs in my hair as he pulls me closer. "Waited for you, so we could shower together."

I lean back and look into those extraordinary eyes, "I bet you did." I laugh as I shed my clothes and step into the shower where he follows.

It's always been a show put on for everyone else's pleasure. Let them think we're banging each other that we have a love/hate relationship—that we're a love triangle with Annie. Whatever they want to think, because the truth is they'll never figure out that we get naked in a shower so that we can talk like free human beings. Not that it matters that we're naked, Panem's seen everything both of us have. There's nothing there between us, even when nothing's on.

He whispers close to my ear, "You'll get rid of it tonight."

"How?" I shoot back as my heart begins to speed up. The time is coming!

"Leave it on your table before the chariots tonight, it won't be there when you get back."

"Just like that? That's it? How' it—" I hesitate not willing to even utter the phrase District 13 here.

"I don't know, but that's the order. Then you report it stolen tomorrow."

…

I'm given a dress that could have been gorgeous…if it hadn't been tree related. Brown with gold leaves all around it and gold painted ones on my arm. My face is painted to mesh with it all. Verity gives me a delicate necklace of a gold and green leaf, "like Ivy" she says, like I don't know.

She leaves me to strap on my golden stilettos and then I carefully, unclasp the necklace that he Raven gave me and lay it down in plain sight on the table. The light hits it and it shimmers as the sun descends in the sky.

I make my way from my room, knowing that it'll be the last time I'll have that necklace that's come to actually mean something to me. I walk down the halls, as I pass a uniformed Avox. He's burly with sandy hair that contrasts with his red beard. His eyes flick up and I can see they're a piercing blue. He nods his head as he walks past me, and as I step on to the elevator I can hear him going into my room.

…

Our tributes don't make a impression at all, how can they? They're the same this year and every year, except that this year it's obvious how under-equipped they are after the last two strong years. Already, they're talking about betting odds from first appearances and they're valued near the bottom of the pack.

We watch the recap and then send them to bed, me with disdain while Blight gives them false smiles that fade away as they leave. He buries his face in his hands until I can't stand to look at him anymore and head to my room.

As I let the dress fall to the floor, I notice that my necklace is gone. I collapse into bed and shut my eyes hoping that no one wakes me to arrest me.


	73. Accussing

**Thanks for bearing with me darlings!**

_**With any part you play, there is a certain amount of yourself in it. There has to be, otherwise it's just not acting. It's lying.**_  
><em><strong>Johnny Depp<strong>_

The night passes in agony. I want to pace, to move to do something but I know that they're watching me here. I'm not foolish enough to think that just because this is my room that I get privacy. I just lay there for hours practically jumping in my skin to try to soothe myself into sleeping, but my mind is to restless.

Somewhere out there, an Avox has my necklace. If he's caught they could figure out what it stores and come for me. I'm not afraid to die—not anymore, but I want to live long enough to make Snow pay. I have to. I can't die now.

Hours pass as I lay there. Twice, I hear footsteps outside of my door and my heart catches. If they come for me, I know I should deny everything and wait it out—but I know that that's exactly what I won't do. I'll do everything in my power to take as many of them as I can with me.

Finally, the sun comes up and stretch my arms and put my tired feet on to the floor. It's everything I can do to keep my eyes from going to the desk where my necklace should be. I shower and dress simply before the sun is even fully up. I reach to my throat, pretending to be confused when the necklace isn't there. I know no one is probably watching this feed now—but later they will be after I make my report.

I search the room over, throw things here and there angrily before I throw open the door of my room and stomp down to the table where the tributes, Verity, the escort, and Blight are sitting. I get into the Ivy's face and slam my hands down, "Where's my necklace you little thief?"

She jumps back as the coffee spills on her hand. She jerks back, and angry blister beginning to form on her hand, "Wha-what?"

"Leave her alone," Henry tries to defend her.

"Shut up!" I snarl at him, "I doubt you'd want to wear my necklace or are you not telling us something pretty boy." He blushes and pushes back. "Alright, which of you two brats took it?"

Verity tries to calm me, "Your necklace? The one you had last night?"

"Yes," I shoot an angry appraising glance at her. "Are you confessing?"

"No," she stammers. "I think we should get…someone." Before I can call after her, she's gone into another room and I throw myself down into a chair.

The room is icy. Blight doesn't say a word but merely stares at his hand. Ivy sneaks away to have her hand tended to, and Henry sits as still as he can as if I'll kill him if he moves. But it isn't long until Verity returns with a white uniformed Peacekeeper.

I recoil from him as she explains that my necklace is gone. His cold eyes look at me, and I notice that he looks distinctly less Capitol than I would have expected. "We'll file a report and work on it Ms. Mason."

"Unnecessary," I spit back. I know the point is to sell the fact that my necklace is gone, but I would never report it to a Peacekeeper taken or not. I've been in the Districts, I know what happens. Somehow I have to report it but without seemingly wanting to.

"It's been stolen," his eyes glance over at Henry who's shaking violently. "They should be punished, if they aren't…already. You should at least get your necklace back."

"I don't need _your_ help," I shout back.

Somehow, over the next hour our tributes are sent to training while Blight tries to calm me down. I shout without mercy or kindness at the Peacekeeper to mind his own business as his face gets increasingly redder as he tells me this is his business. I think I've almost pushed him to the point of snapping when the door opens.

My head snaps around, my fingers grabbing a glass to hurl but I stop as I see him. My heart gives an odd little jolt in my chest, and I curse it for the traitor it is as Raven sweeps up to me. His hand goes firmly to my back, and one hand cups the side of my face and draws me in for a kiss. I hate the way I respond to it, the way it stirs some longing in my body. It's everything I can do to keep my arms at my side, but I'm not the first to break away.

"What's the matter?" Her murmurs close to my lips before his lips kiss the tip of my nose, thereby ruining my previous displays of rage.

"Nothing…now," I feel my traitor mouth utter and my hand travels up to my throat again. "My necklace," my lips say against my will.

His eyes look deep into mine, "What about it?"

"It's gone," I say as my hand falls back down to my side.

His eyes stare into mine, looking for something. "Then you have to file a report."

"I can't, it's wrong. I'm from the Districts," I pull away from him.

"You're in the Capitol, it has to be done," I study his face and I see some dawning look of knowledge on his face, and I feel a chill go over me. But quick as that it's gone as he turns to the Peacekeeper. "I bough it for her from Zelfman's."

With pressing and prodding, I reveal that I left it on my table while I was going out. They ask if I saw anyone around, I remark that I'd hardly pay attention with those eye sores of trees to catch up to. The Peacekeeper takes note and says that he'll get my necklace back.

Raven dismisses him quickly then pulls me back to him, "I've missed you." His voice is soft and appealing—_too_ appealing.

I put my hands firmly on his chest, "I need to look for sponsors, Raven."

"I should have met you when you came off the train," he kisses my shoulder.

"Should have," I push back against him a little more hesitantly. "I've got to work Raven." I free myself from his arms suddenly feeling a lot less warm as my fingers go to my neck. But my necklace isn't there.

"Dinner tonight?"

"I've got tributes," I say in exasperation.

"I know. Late dinner, after they go to bed?" He asks again.

"I have to sleep Raven," I sigh.

"Are you okay?" He pushes the hair back from my face and I feel the heat in me rising. "We both know you don't sleep well alone."

It's me that leans in this time, "If you have me back before they're awake."

"Deal," he whispers as he kisses me again before he disappears down the hall.

…

I spend the rest of the day looking for sponsors—there aren't many that will even dare sponsor them. The few that do, do it because I'm Raven's girl and for no other reason. The kids come in from training, bruised and sore. Unfortunately, they're just as unskilled as before. They don't understand why I stare at them for a few long moments without speaking. They don't understand that I'm trying to remember their faces. I know I can't bring them home, I know there's no way. But I know that I won't forget them…they will be with me for the rest of my life.

And it's easier to just not tell them that I do care.


	74. Doesn't Mean It Should Happen

**RIP Little Bit**

**_Tonight I walk through an empty street with my shadow stretching in front of me when my lonely thoughts meet my lonely feet and the cold reminds me that Ive chosen this life._**

**_Unknown_**

I wind up not sleeping at all. I should have known I wouldn't.

I finally break away from his arms and lips for the final time as the sun is rising. I disentangle myself more than anything. It's hard to pull away from his heat and familiarity, it's hard to believe how much my body has missed and craved him. I don't want to leave but I'm going to be late if I don't do.

Even though he helps me get dressed, really it just hinders as we're both too easily distracted with each other and the want to remove clothes rather than add them. His lips lock on to mine again and again as I finally pull myself away and down the stairs away from, fleeing the moment that we'd give in again. As much as I want to forget both of the hopeless tributes…I just can't. It's my duty to give them as good of a chance as I can.

It takes half an hour to get back to the Training Center. I have enough time to shower and change before meeting up with the tributes again for breakfast. They're both incapable of meeting my eyes as they eat their breakfast. I pour a steaming cup of bitter black coffee to help me stay awake before speaking, "Evidently, you're not as hopeless as I thought. You've got some sponsors."

Both of them look up at me, an almost tangible look of hope on their faces. I hold back my cutting remarks, and let them revel in that as I sip more coffee while the rest of the meal passes in silence.

…

The rest of the day is pretty much…a bust. No one else will support our tributes; no one else can have a favour called on them. They're all too busy once the subject comes up. I return to the Training Center defeated. I walk toward the dining room and I hear the laughter of Ivy, and how Blight is talking with them so gently and kind and I decide that it's better for us all if I don't attend this meal.

I take off my heels as soon as I shut the door to my room and I flop down on the bed. My mind begins to wander places that I don't want it to go…

"_I want three," Ivan says as he kisses the back of my neck._

"_Three?" I smile at him as we sit high up in the branches of an oak tree. "I don't want that many, maybe one or two—so we can take care of them."_

"_Well when we have kids, we'll stop as soon as we have a girl."_

"_No way, I'm making that deal. One or two only. I'm serious. It's going to be hard enough taking care of Greta and Sven without starting our own family. Maybe it would be better if we didn't have any kids," I say hesitantly._

_He scoots over to me and wraps his arms around me, "Just imagine a girl with eyes like Sven and Liam, and beautiful hair like her mother. We'll call her Ivy. Don't you want Ivy?"_

"_I do," I say it in a whisper. "But that doesn't mean it should happen."_

I feel the tears burning and searing in eyes as I lay there. Ivy, the child that I lost, the baby girl I'll never hold and never got to see. The baby girl who I never spoke her name aloud except for then…And now, I'm sending a girl with the same name to slaughter.

It's all too perfect and all too planned. I feel my fists clenched, they know, don't they? Somehow they do and somehow they're doing this to torture me more because the reality is that it's not just the Capitol that's cruel—it's fate. It's easier to blame on the Capitol.

…

Hours pass when I wake up again, the tributes are in bed and Blight is sitting on the couch staring at a blank TV. I can't stop the words that come from my mouth, "How can you be so nice to them when they're going to die? Wouldn't it be easier to…not deal with them?" I sit down beside him.

He turns his head to me and pats my knee. "Well, it would be. But they deserve someone who cares before they die."

Nicholas walks in with a glass of amber liquid, "We all just want someone to care Johanna. Even us Victors, even though it'll do us no good to have anyone in the end." He passes the drink over to me, "You look like you need this more."

I down the drink quickly. It burns and sears my throat all the way down before finally a soft heat starts to radiate within me—a know it's a false warmth, but I'll take whatever I get. "Where've you been?"

"Friends to attend to, pockets to be opened," he smiles. "A few sponsors, if they make it far enough to need them."

…

Ivy died on the first day cut down by a boy from two. She cried for her mother, for her sister who wouldn't even volunteer for her—a sister that could have made it much further than this. But no one came, just like no came to help her at the reaping. She was alone then, and as she took her last breaths all I she had to hold on to was their memories.

Henry was safe for now, but I knew he didn't have the strength to last for that long—the arena was hot, and arid—a desert with wide open spaces and a few little bushes and tons of poisonous creatures.

After the sun has set, I make my way to the roof. Two years ago, I stood here and I promised that I would win and I had. Winning had cost me everything, and here I was waiting for the other shoe—the tribute—to drop.

I remember the look on Ivy's face this morning when I gave her and Henry a token of home. Neither of them had one—had even thought to get one. A small piece of wood from home carved with the number seven. It hadn't meant much, and it certainly wasn't helpful—but the truth of the matter was they were happy with it. If I couldn't save them, the least they deserved was being able to take a piece of home with them.

The next few days pass and we do what we can for Henry. He struggles, but he survives. At night, I see him walking before finding some semi-shaded spot during the day-time to rest. But as he walks, I see his finger play with the carved seven.

I watch as it falls from his hand as the girl from four kills him. She sucks down his water, and takes his food. But in the end, it's all for nothing when I hear word that she's died two hours later.

And that's it; I'm done for the year. I'm free again.

I stand up on the rooftop and try to capture again that feeling of being so sure of myself, sure I would win—sure things would work out. But it too is gone from me. Finally, I climb down off the roof chilled to the bone and get a car back to Raven's house—our house he tells me over and over.

I get out a mile or two away and I walk in the early morning light as dawn creeps up into the sky. My shoes are in my hand, my feet tingling from the cold road beneath my feet as I walk up the long drive to his home. I pay little attention as my scattered thoughts keep playing with the word Ivy in my mind, picking at it like a barely scabbed over sore.

My fingers reach for the key in my purse to open the door when I notice it's slightly ajar. Turning the knob, I walk in and almost lose my grip on the shoes in my hand. Standing in the middle of the foyer is Raven, who's face is creased with fury, and three Peacekeepers.


	75. Now We're Even

**For those of you who watch How I Met Your Mother, you'll notice that tonight's chapter is named after tonight's episode. **

**In good news though, I"VE BEEN NOMINATED FOR ABSOLUTE BEST OMG JAW DROP MOMENT IN THE 2012 PEARL AWARDS! Nine Words is my story that's nominated and I really couldn't be more excited! I've only been writing HG fanfiction since August *_***

**Whoever nominated me, thank you! It's been my dream to get nominated for something in the Pearl Awards *_***

**Next update is Wednesday!**

_**"Until lions have their historians, tales of the hunt shall always glorify the hunter"**_

_**Unknown**_

For a moment, I stand there and no one turns to me even realizing I'm there. I slink the shoes over my back and slam the door shut with a cool look of disdain, "I thought you had better manners than to invite such riff-raff in Raven." I saunter towards them a strange tingling in my spine, like needles.

Raven's face smoothes a little as he reaches his arm out to me as each of the peacekeepers eyes sweep to me. Raven's arm is firm around my waist as he pulls me forward, "Sorry, I wasn't expecting them, darling. I wasn't expecting you home yet either." I can hear the askance in his tone. He expected me home hours ago, I know that. His eyes dart to them with a flared bit of anger that makes one of them involuntarily step back. "Would you care to tell Ms. Mason what you've told me?" There's a thick threat in his voice.

My heart speeds up as the Peacekeeper turns to me. "Late last night, an Avox named Pollux and his brother Castor were caught and punished for taking your necklace," my heart catches in my throat and I keep an indifferent look on my face. They've caught them, they know. They're going to arrest me. They're going to torture me…my fingers tighten on the shoes I have draped over my back. With enough force, I can drive it into his chest before he can reach his gun. I can at least take some of them with me, because I cannot and will not go to jail where they can try to torture me into telling.

Just as I'm about to launch into him with my shoes, I feel Raven's arm tighten on me as if he knows what I'm thinking and the Peacekeeper continues on. "Unfortunately, they died trying to escape us. The necklace was not found in their possession. We'll continue looking, but it may be lost Ms. Mason."

For a moment, I'm disoriented trying to grasp the idea that Raven is only displeased because they're here and not because they're here to arrest me. "Lot of good you do then, find a necklace and you fail. Your parents must be so proud of how…talented you are." I sweep away into the kitchen as Raven goes back to speaking to them angrily.

I make it around the corner and grip the wall as I lean against it. I'm okay. I'm safe. They don't have the necklace, but who does? Finnick said that they were taking the necklace to thirteen not that they were passing it off. I know they wouldn't have handed it over not if that's what they were supposed to do. I know if they'd found the necklace I'd be arrested or dead, but I'm not.

It hits me hard. It's much simpler than any of that. They're lying. They don't have them, they don't have the necklace…or at least that's what I hope. I may not know for months. It could be months until Finnick or I know. All I have to do is hold on to the fact that things that are lost tend to stay that way. I reach up to my throat where the necklace once resided and I touch the cool skin of my throat.

I'm safe for now. _Now act like it Johanna._

I push myself off the wall and discard my shoes on the floor before pouring myself a cold glass of water. I take a long drink and just stand there the wheels in my mind reeling when I feel Raven put his hands on my hips.

His breath is soft and warm—distracting on my neck and ear. "What's the matter Johanna?"

"Nothing," I say sharply. Too sharply, I realize. "I'm just…their dead," I try to cover up my mistake. Let him just think that I'm sad the tributes are dead.

"Are you sure?" He turns me slowly to him and he tilts my head to look up into his eyes. I stare back at him, revealing nothing or at least I hope. "You can tell me anything Johanna," he says it softly.

I wish I could believe him. I wish I did believe him, but I can't and I don't. I kiss him tenderly and then pull away, my eyes shut tight. "I tell you everything, Raven." I say it gently, and I look up into his eyes.

He stares at me for a long moment, "Okay, Johanna." I can tell by his words he doesn't believe me. Yet…he doesn't question it or push it. He just lets it lie there between us like an invitation for me to come clean when I want to.

That's never going to happen.

…

When I wake up, it's dark outside. The first thing I realize is that I didn't have a single dream. I'm tangled in Raven's arms and it takes a moment for me to untangle enough to see the clock on the nightstand. The red numbers are illuminated saying 6:07.

I slept the whole day away, I realize as I pull myself away from him. But like a snake he pulls me back to him. "Come back to bed, baby," he murmurs half asleep.

"What are you doing in bed this early?" I shoot back struggling to get out of his iron grip.

"Because it's early. It's six in the morning, normal people are asleep," his eyes are still closed.

"Six in the morning?" I ask in exasperation. "I slept all day and night? Why'd you let me do that?"

"Have you ever tried to wake you?" He laughs.

Fair enough. Despite his protests, I get out of bed to shower. I'm not surprised when he offers to com with me, but I decline and tell him that I'm trying to hurry back to the Training Center that I need to check on Blight but that I'll be back. He knows as far as the fellow tributes from Seven are concerned or Finnick that he's going to lose, so he lets me go.

I dress and take a car to the Training Center, bypassing the crowds. It's Nicholas that finds me first, "The Peacekeepers were asking after you." He hands me a cup of coffee, "I told them I'd no idea where you were, but that maybe they should talk to your fiancé Raven."

"He's not my fiancé," I say angrily.

"I'm sorry. They didn't correct me on being misinformed, but they seemed…less eager to find you," he pats my shoulder and disappears back to his paper. Leave it to Nicholas to find a way to terrify them.

It doesn't take me long to get to the Control room, but it's not Finnick but Coral who's sitting there. She's sitting there watching in agony as the male tribute lies in the sand, eyes wide toward the sky barely alive. The monitor shows how weak his pulse is, but somehow he keeps holding on. He keeps surviving despite how his pulse dips down so drastically. Her fingers reach to the screen and she select a bottle of water to send him.

I watch as it floats to the ground from the cloudless sky, almost like a beacon to find him. Sure enough, he doesn't flinch or move as the parachute falls closer and closer. But from out of nowhere, the female tribute runs half crazed to catch it. She sees him lying on the ground lifeless, and her thirst has her reaching up to the bottle of water.

Her parched lips part and blood falls from her lips as the boy from four rises from the ground. She falls forward shaking, as he takes the bottle from her hand and starts drinking it slowly. She begs for the water, but he ignores her and takes her weapons. He's raising his weapon to finish her off, when her cannon booms. I see him struggle up and make his way to an outcropping of rocks, partly renewed and eager to try to survive again.

I'm so caught up in the moment that I don't even see it coming. The searing coffee hits my shoulder and burns me as my eyes go wildly to see Coral smirking at me. "Now we're even," she laughs loudly. But before I can grab her, Finnick stops me.

"Let me go!" I say through gritted teeth. "I'm going to kill her!"

"Wouldn't be good to get yourself arrested would it?" Finnick says smugly. Of course, he already knows. "Wouldn't want to them to come back would you?"

"Only if they're bringing my necklace back," I scoff. But he understands. The necklace is out there whether or not the messengers survived or not.


	76. Firelight

**Chapter is shorter than I wanted. But you don't fight Johanna and win. Don't worry, I am going somewhere with this. And you'll see more soon. Next update is Saturday which should be a much longer chapter-this one would have been but I didn't want to cover the time skip in this one-since it's quite large. I hope you like this chapter though and I hope it doesn't fill like a filler, because it's really not. Anyways, I'll shut up. But I'm pretty sure that Johanna in the next chapter makes up for the shortness of this one!**

_**We may not be the best of what we are. We may not talk often. We may have lack of time to spend with. We may sometimes feel like being neglected. I may cry without you noticing. You might feel hurt without me realizing. But I just want you to know that no matter how difficult things can be, in the long run, yet you still have me...and I still have you. We still have us.**_

_**Unknown**_

"Go Coral, I've got this," Finnick says politely to her as I struggle against him.

"I'm sure I could help," Coral stands up and reaches out to touch my nose like you would an impertinent child the livid scar at the corner of her mouth even more garish with her smile.

I take the opportunity to throw my legs out and around her waist before biting her finger roughly. With a fierce cry she launches at me knocking Finnick over and causing him to loose his grip on me. Her fist connects with my cheek, and I'm startled by the force of it as pin her to the ground from behind. She latches on to my arm with her arms and teeth. I cry out as she bites in deeply, but I don't try to pull away anymore. I push her down harder into my arm as my other hand goes over her nose.

She screams and kicks at me, but I feel her movements slowing when I'm jerked up from behind. And I'm beyond shocked to see that it's Nicholas who has me picked up like a ragdoll. Finnick is helping a sputtering Coral to her feet, and our eyes meet across the distance. I hate her and I can see the feeling is mutual.

But the rough hands on my arm frighten me slightly. Nicholas is livid, and I recognize the look on his face as the one that Blight said he had in the arena all those years ago. He's not an old man anymore, he's a frail, young survivor willing to do anything to come home.

"Stop it, you're Victors. Do you want another body on your conscience?" His eyes are wild as he pushes me away for a moment and stands between us. I can see the vein in his neck pulsing and I'm aware that in this moment, he's not the Nicholas I know anymore.

He's not exactly sane either.

It's Blight that leads him away. I see the confused expression on Nicholas' face as he directs him out of the room. Finnick is talking to Coral in a low voice and she jerks her head before leaving with a hiss. Finnick's eyes come up to meet mine and I stare back defiantly determined to not be ashamed.

His fingers coast over the mark on my face, "It's going to bruise. They'll think Raven's been beating you." I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly, and we sit down to watch the tribute on the screen.

…

When I go back to Raven's he's curious what's happened. But all I mention is the word "conflict" as he tends to my bruised cheek with some ice and treats the burns on my skin from the coffee. Despite his entreaty to know more, I ignore him. Finally, he stops asking.

I spend my evenings making my usual round of the Capitol's stores and restaurants both with and without Raven. But my mornings, I stay with Finnick as he keeps guard over the boy he has left. I watch him fall. I watch as his body struggles for breath—and yet he gets up everyday. He's ill-equipped for all of this sun and desert being from four, but he fights.

After fifteen days, the boy—Wyatt, is crowned the winner of the Seventy-First Hunger Games. He's picked up gaunt, sunburned, and stained with blood. His blonde hair is almost white from the exposure to the sun, and Finnick sits there staring at him without moving.

"What's wrong? He just won," I spit out.

"Coral got his parents killed a few years ago," he says tiredly as he rubs his eyes.

"Maybe he'll kill that b—"

"He's her nephew," his words sink in. This boy out there is her family, someone who's relatively safe—just as safe as her at least.

I push myself up and leave the room without another word.

…

The fire has burned to embers when Raven comes in. I can hear the rain coming down in sheets outside. I think about Coral—how even hateful, evil, stupid Coral has a nephew still. What do I have? Nothing.

My fingers touch my stomach the way they use to right after I lost they baby—I grit my teeth. After I lost _Ivy_, not just a baby. Ivy. And again it feels so lonely in my skin.

"What's the matter?" His voice is soft as he kneels down behind me and touches my hair—the hair I've grown out for him. He pushes it away from where it graze my shoulders, "You can tell me if you want."

And for the first time, I want to. "I lost a baby."

I feel him shift behind me, and then he's pulling me to him. His knees are on either side of me as he pulls me tight to his chest. Somehow he knows not to say the words I don't want to hear. He doesn't say "sorry", "it's for the best", or "there will be others". He says nothing at all, but the silence isn't empty as he kisses my temple.

I feel my hands instinctively go up to touch his where they wrap around me and I lean in to him more. "It was three months before I met you the first time," I stare into the fire.

"I wish I had known then," he rocks me slightly like a child who needs slight comfort.

"It wouldn't have mattered. You meant nothing then," I close my eyes, but he stops rocking. "Don't stop, I like it."

He starts rocking me gently again, "And I mean something now?"

"I guess so," I murmur. He seems to accept that.

…

I don't know how long passes before he speaks again, but I know I've been asleep. "Do you want more?"

"More what?" I blink trying to open my eyes but not really wanting to. Everything is warm and pleasant. I just want to go back to sleep and slip away from what's been going on in the conscious world.

"Do you want to try again for a child?"

My eyes fly open as I feel my body freeze in his arms. Every inch of me rigid, "I didn't try the first time." I say it slowly. The child was never intended-at least not then.

"I mean Johanna that if you want children; I'll give them to you. We could have a family if that's what would make you happy," his lips are soft in my hair.

I pull away from him and turn to look into his eyes in the firelight, "You're serious aren't you?"

"Yes," the sincerity is evident in his voice. His face is open and honest, and I'm really not sure what to think.

"I don't know if I ever want children," I say defensively. I know he catches it in my voice. "I don't know if I want to have children with you," I spit out with a little more venom. Which is the truth. I'm not sure I can deal with it again-if the pain is worth it, not to mention the Games.

"You can have them with anyone then. Any man you chose. Someone else can carry the child if you want. Whatever you want," he says seriously. His hand pushes the hair away from my face and his fingers brush along the bruise.

Whoa!

My mind reels. Did he just offer for me to take a lover? Did he just pretty much tell me I could do anything I wanted? He's trying to give me what he thinks I want, whether it's from him or not. Why?

The realization hits me hard.

He's in love with me.


	77. Aftermath

_**I believe we are still so innocent. The species are still so innocent that a person who is apt to be murdered believes that the murderer, just before he puts the final wrench on his throat, will have enough compassion to give him one sweet cup of water.**_  
><em><strong>Maya Angelou<strong>_

I throw a few logs on the fire as the first snow comes down thickly outside. It's been three months since I've been to the Capitol to see Raven. I'd left the morning after our talk in front of the fire. He had called several times in the months in-between, but instead of telling me when I would he come to see him—he asked.

Each time I said I was busy, though he asked every few days. Even after all the rejection he didn't give up. Even though he could order me to come, he's left it up to me.

I remain in seven.

I continue to carve the banister of the stairs in my home in Victor's Village. I've decided to make some more personal touches here and there. I carve designs into the wood, even replace things here and there. I make furniture from the wood I take to the forest—because no one would tell me I couldn't. Eventually my house gets full enough for my tastes but I don't stop.

I continue to make furniture to keep my hands busy. When I'm done with it, I set it in the trash bin around back. Everyone knows that the trash bins are fair game around her, so before the next morning the furniture is always gone without a sound.

I talk to the other Victors everyday, but they are settled in and have made their peace with the lives we lead while my hate for it is still so strong that I can't be subdued. Though I enjoy their companionship, I'm still just lonely.

Each Sunday, Finnick calls without fail. He tells me that he'll be coming around soon with Coral and Wyatt on his Victory Tour. He tells me that he'll hope he'll see me in the Capitol for the ball at the end of the tour. I tell him that I'll try to be there, and that I'll see him soon.

A part of me wants to go back to the Capitol, a part of me even misses Raven in some vulgar and physical way. But he loves me, I'm sure of it and I don't like it. I don't like that he feels that way about me—it's almost as if it gives him some power over me rather than giving me power over him. Yet, I know in the end whether I want to go back or not that I will. Finnick wants me to, and the rebellion likely needs me to.

…

Another month passes, or maybe it's two. It feels like years. I go to bed alone, I wake up alone…It's everything I can do to focus that there is a point to all of this, there is a point in continuing on. It's a welcome relief when the Victory Tour comes even though everything it means is horrid.

Wyatt's partner was the one that killed our tribute Henry. No one greets him with warmth or anything at all like kindness. He seems to be doing better than some other winners have—definitely better than Annie.

We're able to get an hour alone before they're set to go. I hate having Coral in my house with her tow-headed nephew, it feels like inviting a lioness with rabies in. However, I tolerate them so I can have my time with Finnick. It's his first time having been in my house.

He mills around asking questions and making musings while we dart around everything we really want to talk about. I want to know if he knows about the necklace, if there's anything to tell…if at this very moment, they're just waiting to arrest us. But the words don't come to my lips. "You're wearing your red dress to the Capitol?"

I'm startled out of my thoughts, trying to place the meaning behind his words. But I don't know what it could mean, it's not anything we've set up or made a code for. "Possibly," I say while raising an eyebrow.

Coral brushes into the kitchen and goes in the refrigerator without asking, "Doesn't hurt to remind the why they love you."

My eyes meet Finnick's and I can see the unspoken words there, _to remind Raven why he loves you._ My words are harsh, "I don't think they need reminding. I don't care what they or anyone thinks."

This time it's Wyatt who speaks, "I said that once." He pauses, and I notice how dark his skin is from all the exposure how he blinks so much from the sun that they seared his retinas. His eyes float over to Coral who's stiffened slightly with a glass in her hand, her face looking down with something like pain. "I remember…going without food for three days so that we could donate enough for a bottle of water when our tribute gave up. I remember watching it float down, and I watched as she devoured it. I watched as she did everything she could to come home, until I wasn't sure that it was her that was really coming home anymore. She wasn't…who I remembered." Coral doesn't move, but I can see the tears threatening to spill over. "I remember when she came home to find me that I'd been sitting in blood for three days. Sometimes, when I close my eyes I can still smell the-." He shivers violently, "And when all I had left was her, she gave me up and ignored me for eleven years. I convinced myself, I didn't care. I don't even understand it all. But when I was lying there in the sand and I saw that water floating down to me, it didn't seem to matter as much anymore. I suddenly wanted to live—to understand why she wasn't there my entire lifetime. Why she wanted to save me now and not then?"

He looks at her in the eerie silence, "I'm asking now. Why?"

She looks smaller and weaker, the scar on her face seemed to make her less fierce now instead of more. "Because I killed them. My stupid thoughts that I had a choice in what happened to me…it got them killed. I've never argued again, and I let you go there because you weren't safe knowing me. You weren't safe being related to me and raised by me. And even if you were reaped, they way you grew up in the Community Home would help you much more than any training I could give you. I gave you a chance…I didn't know the water would mean so much," her eyes flick up to him.

And no one says another word.

…

It's been a week since they visited on the tour in seven. I can't help but feel a little nervous as I step off the train in the middle of the day. I'd told Raven I'd be coming back, but we hadn't talked of what that meant or anything.

The snow blows around me as I move around the platform, and I'm surprised to find that Raven hasn't picked me up—this time it's Orson that picks me up. He takes me back to Raven's house where the first person who greets me is Verity. She rambles on about how she's created me a dress that will be utter perfection tonight. While she talks, I realize that Raven isn't here at all.


	78. Snow's Mansion

**_This may sound like gibberish to you, but I think I'm in a tragedy._**

**_Harold Crick, Stranger Than Fiction_**

The reality of it hits me. Raven isn't here…He isn't here. What if tonight is the finale? What if after tonight we're done with? Isn't it what I wanted?

I wanted freedom, but freedom from Raven would lead me back to being sold. I'd never thought of that before. It would lead me back to ungentle hands and away from everything he knows. It would lead me from the power he has—away from everything I can find out for the Rebellion. I would be free again. He was done with me, and suddenly being free of his _love_ felt like loss. Something in me feels hallow and empty.

I don't listen as Verity rambles on and styles my hair. I'd kept it growing for him, though I'd been gone. I hadn't even thought about cutting it. I'd idly thought he'd like it, love to see how much it's grown. But he's not here. He doesn't care about my hair or anything else after the way I've shut him out. He's keeping up the proprieties until this is…dissolved.

I grip the edge of the table as Verity brings out my new gown to show me before she does my make-up. "No," I say flatly.

"Pardon? Do you not like it?" She seems hurt and confused.

"I want to wear my red dress," I get up and cross the room and open up my bag.

"But you've worn that one before!" She seems thoroughly scandalized. "You have such new pretty things. Why would you want to wear something old?"

My fingers slip over the material, "To make them remember me…"

She seems perplexed, "No one could forget you, Johanna."

"I thought that too," is all I give her as a response.

…

I feel a wave of sickness as I sit in the car making my way to the City Circle. Tonight's "ball" is in Snow's mansion. This is the first time I've been there since…

My hand clenches my stomach and I find it hard to breathe for a minute. I don't know if I can do this, but if I don't…He wins and he can never win. I swallow the naseous feeling and move my hand away from my stomach. My palms are sweating as I sit there, waiting to arrive at the place I lost my child.

All of the pain of that night is crashing down on me, the old injuries feels as if they're open again and all I want to do is run away. But I grit my teeth fiercely, all I have to do is pretend he's watching me now—which isn't that far of a stretch.

I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, until I can feel the car slowing down. The door opens and cameras flash in my face as I'm handed out with a neatly plastered scowl on my face. I pose for pictures here and there and people ask where Raven is, but I act like I don't here them. I don't want to admit that I don't know.

When I'm through the doors, I can smell roses that are thick and heavy—but it's not that smell that bothers me. It's the scent of the mansion—the old walls, the ancient tapestries, and rich carpet. Somehow it all just reminds me of crashing down the stairs. It's like breathing in the carpet again when my face was buried in it unable to side gives a dull ache where my ribs had broke before. I grab a glass of a tray to steady myself and I down it as slowly as I can.

The warm effusion of alcohol burns down my throat leaving warmth behind until I feel a little more relaxed—vodka always has that effect on me. I glance around the room and notice some of the other Victors milling around. None of the others from seven had come—they were not in high demand anyways, but there was Cashmere with her lush curls bouncing around as she floated like a butterfly from man to man. And for the second time in my life, I feel sorry for her because we've both lost children. When her eyes come around to me, I can see something like a mutual respect in her eyes before we turn away from each other.

Wyatt looks ragged when I see him, he's got a hand to his temple rubbing it. I notice that his eyes are more open in this light. Finnick's fear that his sight wouldn't fully return to normal seems more merited as I see him moving around much easier in this lightly. Maybe it's true that he was partially blind from the sun. He sees me and nods disentangling himself from some vile creature to pay his attentions to me.

His arm finds mine, and he leans on me heavily so that I'm forced to support him. He seems dead on his feet—exhausted. I see the lines around his eyes, the deep bruise like shadows under his eyes. His grip is so tight that I slip my arm around his waist to hold him better.

"Thank you," he whispers. "I had to get away. I know you don't like…Coral. Thank you for tolerating me."

"You're not like her," I retort.

"I am her flesh no matter what we think or how I was raised."

"Are you telling me that right beneath your surface lurks her insanity?" I raise an eyebrow.

"I think that has more to do with what we both are, rather than my blood." He pauses, and grabs a drink as a tray floats by. He downs it quickly and makes a face, "How do you live like this?"

"What makes you think we really live?" I shoot back.

He shivers slightly, "It's too cold to be hell."

"That's what you think," I pause. I wonder how many times he's been bought and sold already. He's dead on his feet, I remember Finnick like this when I was in the hospital. That had been days of women. I don't even know how many it was—Finnick hadn't even asked.

"Thanks for the rest, you're a good support," he laughs and I wonder how much alcohol he's really had before he ambles off composedly.

My eyes scan the crowd looking for Finnick, that's the only face I'm looking for I tell myself. But nowhere do I see Finnick at all. There are other Victors, there are friends or Raven's but no Finnick and…no Raven.

Something like a chill passes over me, and I can't stop myself from looking around. I can feel eyes on me…I can feel _his _eyes on me—the eyes of a predator. I can feel my muscles tightening as I can fee him approaching. As I turn, I see him sifting through the crowd toward me. There he is, mere inches away now with his plastic smile and puffy lips.

"Good evening, Ms. Mason. It's been so long since our last meeting," he smiles serenely.

"Not long enough," I shoot back without intending for it to come out. He knows that in some capacity I love Finnick, and I've put him and Annie in more danger. Yet, some way I don't care. It feels so liberating to tell him exactly what I think. I smile back at him lightly.

"Is that so Ms. Mason?" His lips thin for a moment and his hand reaches out to my bare shoulder as I feel an arm slip around my waist from behind. I jerk around to find myself looking up into Raven's impassive face.

"Hello Coriolanus," Raven says evenly as my eyes dart back to snow.

"Hello Raven," he pauses a moment. "I heard you too were together, but I scarce dared to believe it until I saw it with my own eyes. Can it be…true? Can someone really love Ms. Mason?"

My lips form to hiss, but Raven's words cut me off. "I thought such trivial gossip was beneath you, Coriolanus. If you don't mind, I'd like to spend my evening with Johanna. It's been quite some time since I've seen her, as you probably know. Business kept me from her earlier, and my lover and I have some catching up to do." He inclines his head and Snow smiles a bit forced as Raven directs me away.

He leads us through the crowd until we approach the balcony which is slightly crowded. With a slight clearing of his throat, the lurkers moved back into the party until we were alone in the chill air. I felt myself shiver as I looked down at the cars below, at the peacekeepers. I wonder if the one who lifted my bloody body up after falling down the stairs is still here?

I feel Raven sliding his coat around me and tugging it shut in front of me. I feel myself pulling it together, but I don't turn to greet him. "You look cold," he says gently. His voice is like the warm fire the night he asked me if I wanted children, anyone's children.

I find myself turning to look at him and I stare up into his eyes. They're so dark and unfathomable though, I can't even begin to decipher what he thinks. "Why did you step in for me?"

"Do you have to ask? Don't you know, Johanna?" He tilts my chin up to him. "I'll always protect you," he kisses me lightly. It's been so long since his touch—since anyone's touch that my body heats up so quickly that I think I might explode. It suddenly feels much too hot to be winter.

When we part, I look up into his eyes and he smiles lightly, "I've missed you."

"Of course," I smirk as I look back over the balcony. Just like that he's made any fear I had that he would reject me disappear. He is just as in love with me as ever, and he wants me to stay—or at least I think he does.

I feel his hands tugging the pocket of the coat I'm wearing and then his fingers are lightly brushing back my hair from my neck as he lowers a chain around my neck. The dim lights catch the crystal as it lays against my chest as he fastens it around my neck.

"It's to replace the stolen one," he answers my unspoken question as my fingers touch it and sense the familiarity. "It's exactly the same, I know it can't replace the one I gave you, not really. But I saw you touching your throat as if you missed it."

He had observed that one small act of mine, the familiarity of the gift he had given me. He was…kind, even I had to admit that. When I turned back to face him, my fingers played with the chain as I stared up at him in the dim light.

"Raven," my throat felt dry. I don't want to lose him or the safety he brings me. He is valuable to the Rebellion, so I swallow my pride thickly and say it before I can stop myself. "I love you," my voice chokes at the end.

He stares at me a long minute and I keep my eyes looking into his. Something strange crosses his face and reflects in his eyes, but I don't know what it is. I can't read it and if I ask I'll break this moment.

His voice is tight, controlled not like I thought it would be at all. "Do you mean that?" He stares at me unblinking.

"Does it matter?" I ask pointedly.

I watch as something passes over his face like a shadow. I feel something like a twinge of guilt, "You know it does."

There's silence, and I'm not sure what to say exactly. "I'm tired, when can we go _home_?"

He puts his hand up to my face to stroke my cheek, and I lean into it without hesitation, "We have to stay a little longer," his lips press to my forehead as he pulls me to him. And it seems just as easily as that that I'm forgiven.


	79. Raven the Saint

**Let's just say...we're not even going to talk about how this week has gone and that'll give you a maaaaaaaaaajorr clue. Will be answering reviews this week-super behind on those and we're a man down on the collab I help lead (there's only two of us in charge!)**

**_"I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I'm not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant."_**

**_Robert McCloskey _**

The morning comes and goes without us waking. I had not realized how much I had _physically_ needed Raven. He brought to me a type of release, a type of pleasure that I couldn't quite explain.

My fingers are digging into the smooth skin of his chest when I awake with pangs of hunger. It felt so comfortable and warm in his arms that I didn't want to move despite the hunger. My fingertips brush over the only thing I wear—the crystal necklace.

I disentangle myself from him and go to get out of bed when I'm yanked back. My body is crushed against him and his lips are harsh and bruising against mine before he let's me go. All thoughts of food are pushed from my mind as I start to devour him.

But he holds me back until I'm fighting to get closer to him. "Are you going to come back?" I understand what he means. Am I going to come back to him after the next time I leave or will I shun him again?

I push the hair back from my eyes, "I'm coming back." I say I firmly, "But until we get out of bed, pretend you're trying to convince me." His lips tease into a smile as he laughs. Before I realize what's happening, I'm on my back and Raven is hovering over me tantalizing my skin with his lips.

…

Every time he calls for me, I come. It's a relief to find relief with him. I relish the power that I have, the standing I'm given by being his lover. It gives me warrant to get away with things that would not be tolerated if I was not. Yet, for some reason his friends and acquaintances love me no matter how rudely I behave to them. I'm just some backwards girl from seven "who couldn't possibly know any better."

I enjoy seeing just how far I can test that theory.

Yet it seems no matter how far I push them, I can't push them away. The game quickly loses any semblance of fun.

…

I feel stupid when I realize it. I've come in one day to suddenly realize, I haven't seen Esther in quite awhile. For a moment, I'm sick thinking of where she could be and what the Capitol has done to her. But Raven wouldn't, would he?

It hits me as I stand there, the thought of _him_—the avox on the train with the big brown eyes. In my dreams, he comforts me until I half believe that he was never real to begin with. But he's out there somewhere, I know it and I cannot tell a soul because something could—would happen if I did. But I've taken Esther for granted—Esther who is here, who has soothed me in a fever, who has comforted my nightmares with hot chocolate and a pat of her hand.

I lean against the table in the hall as Raven puts his coat up, and I hear him asking me what's wrong. But I push past him. I've trusted him more than I should, he's the enemy after all. Where is she? Has she disappeared without a word like some in my district have done? Is he gone and rotted already or is she somewhere still here—some trace or vestige that proves she's real—she exists.

I walk ahead of him, my heels clicking and I can hear him catching up behind me which makes me move faster. I move to the room considered the Servant's Quarters and open the door hurriedly to find some trace of Esther.

I can't stop gawking as she stands there, her shirt stretched tight over her swollen belly. And there in the bed, half-dazed from sleep is Joniah. How could I have missed something that obvious?

Raven pulls me back and apologizes as he moves me from the room. "She's pregnant," I say coarsely. "I didn't know they—she—are they allowed?"

"No," he says concretely. I feel the clench of fear in my throat. She's not my avox though—not that that really matters.

It clicks into place in my brain, "Is that why you asked me if I wanted children? To make like it was—ours or mine?"

"It had been a thought," he says as we stand at the bottom of the stairs.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I spit back.

"Would it have changed your mind?" He raises an eyebrow.

"You should know it does," I throw it at him the way he threw his words at me last night at the ball. It matters, it does. All I can think of is my child that I lost, of this baby whose mother will be killed for having it. It's now that the look on her face sinks in—a look of terror. "You're going to let her die," my voice is bitter.

"No," he says firmly and I open my mouth to snap back at him. "It'll be raised as my own. An affair while we were broken up, raised in my household as the mother didn't want to be known. The Avox woman will take good care of the child they'll all say. And she can be happy." He pauses, "I left you out of it because you said you didn't want children."

I yank my arm from him and stomp up the stairs into our room and slam the door. How could he think I was so callous? So mean? But after all, that was what I was always trying to do. The thought of that child hurting, of another mother losing her child made my hand go to my stomach again in abject fear. I don't have to imagine the terror she feels inside of her, I've felt it before.

But here Raven was helping her like he helped me. Protecting her, and even giving everyone more reason to love me by his apparent infidelity. She would get to have her child—get to watch it have the best life while she raised it. And despite her lack of a tongue, I envy her.


	80. Realization

_**"That to love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed."**_

_**Jace Wayland from City of Bones by Cassandra Clare**_

Esther gives birth less than two months later. Jacob comes into the world screaming one night, and I watch the look on Esther's face as she sees him for the first time. Her entire face is full of wonder and love. She cradles him to her so completely. Tears streak her face as she looks at him, her lips move soundlessly.

Jacob will never hear his mother's voice.

She offers him to me, and I take him hesitantly. He fits so perfectly in my arms. I rock him gently as I move around the room. Those perfect fingers reach up at my face and touch me. I want to sit down and count them while I hold him. But every time the smile starts to split my face, it hits me hard again. _He's not yours._

When the feeling catches in my throat, I give him back without a word to Esther and leave the room. Everything is pulling at me, there's a distinct burning behind my eyes as I hurry up the stairs to our room. I pace the floor up and down, pulling at my hair and doing everything I can do to keep the tears in.

_You're stronger than this. Face it, you'll never have a child. You'll never be happy. Time to just face it._ I force the air into my lungs and close my eyes. I can do this. I can put on a mask. I am living for a cause—everything else is just something holding me down.

I open my eyes and sit down for a moment as the door opens. Raven walks over to me and kneels in front of me, "Are you okay? I know this has to be hard."

I look down into his concerned face, and take a breath. "What are you feeling? Talk to me."

I put my hand on his shoulder as I push myself back up to my feet, "I don't feel anything." For once, it feels true.

…

News spreads quickly that Raven is a father. People come to see his child and remark how like him he looks. They all want to ask who is the mother—I can even seem them mouthing guesses to each other, but not one of them dares to ask.

They exclaim over him and ask me how it feels to be a mother. Without fail, I tell them with venom, "I'm not his mother." They take it that I'm offended that he's raising someone else's child. Maybe they think I'm jealous or that I hate the child—but my detachment from him will be the thing that will save him no matter what happens. It's better not to love him.

…

Just when I think I can't endure another person coming to the see the baby, there's a knock at the door. I wrench it open, my face in a snarl as I'm about to launch into the visitor. But the words choke out, and my arms fly out and secure around the one person I've wanted so desperately to see—Finnick.

He looks worse for wear. His eyes are heavy circled and he smells distinctly of perfume as I lead him into the kitchen, "Been doing the Capitol rounds?"

He sits down heavily as I put on a pot of coffee. His fingers dip into the sugar bowl and pick up the cubes with his long fingers to examine them. He flips them up into his mouth, letting it melt on his tongue as he speaks. "And round and round," he laughs a little drunkenly.

He doesn't say anything at first, so I let him keep his silence. As it stretches on, I get nervous as his red rimmed eyes look up at me. "We…did it." The cup of coffee I just poured falls from my hand.

The hot liquid splashes on my leg as I utter obscenities. My hand finds his and I look in his eyes, "It…" He means Castor and Pollux…the papers.

"We're delivered," he says. There's a half maniacal glint in his eyes. I don't know what to say, what we can say. But the knowledge that we did it—that the information is in hands that want to destroy the Capitol as bad as ours—that means something. He starts to laugh as I pull him to me for a moment. "It's…"

"Shh—" I warn him. I hastily clean up the shards of cup on the floor and the spilled coffee before getting him another cup. Cup after cup, he drinks until his eyes lose some of their glazed look.

"How long can you stay?"

"The night if you'll have me," he gives the smile that's reserved for me.

…

Finnick is passed out like a child against my chest. My fingers brush over his hair as he moans lightly in his sleep. He wasn't able to stay awake long before he had slipped under the pull of sleep—but it was enough to know how much these last few months have taxed him.

He had detailed to me how much Annie had changed. She would come back to him in brief moments and flashes before she disappeared into the terrified girl that was pulled from the arena. He still loves her though—perhaps even more, because she's broken like him now. He didn't want her to be broken, of course—but now she understood him as only I had been able to until then.

Coral was enough of a handful without the added pressure of Wyatt. Wyatt was quickly becoming a great source of entertainment in the Capitol. Unlike Coral who reacted violently against things, he withstood everything until suddenly he would just break. There'd come a point where he couldn't be pulled from bed for days—couldn't be bothered to eat or respond. Then suddenly, he'd snap out of it—albeit weakly, and go back to his life as if nothing had happened.

He'd confessed all his fears and all his worries, leaving them with me to guard him while he slept. My hand sweeped over his face smoothing away the lines of pain and tiredness like I had Greta and Sven's, like I would have one day done for Ivy. I watch over him protectively as he falls into a peaceful and restful sleep.

It hits me as my fingers hesitate on a lock of his bronze hair—there's been a flaw in my plan to not do, to not love, to not feel. I wanted to make it so that there was nothing Snow could take from me. He could take Raven and I'd be fine…well, I care but I wouldn't be devasted. They could wipe out every last person in my District and I would rise to anger, but I'd live. The flaw though is that there is one thing in all the world left that I love—and his head rests against my chest like a tired out child.

And there's nothing I can or will do about it.


	81. A Way Out

**And I know time is passing quickly, but time is fixing to slow way down again. Something is going to happen very, very soon.**

_**The past is never dead, it is not even past. ~William Faulkner**_

Last year, I wanted a drink to get through this. This year I don't. I'm smart enough to know that the drink doesn't really help. It might numb the senses, but it only delays the inevitable. You can't stay drunk forever—contrary to what Haymitch believes.

My bag sits by the door, ready to go with me on to the train back to the Capitol—back to Raven, back to Jacob. I pull my hair into a low ponytail, and slip on my shoes before heading out. The other Victors are already on their way since they're much slower than I am—everyone is pretty much there when I take my place on the podium.

The long speech is given, but it sounds like static in my ears. It stretches on and on until the names are called. A girl—young, weak, underfed comes forward when they call Aria Collins. A boy—who seems to be cut of the same mold as the girl answers to Isaac Ivers.

We board the train, and I watch them eat their fill until their sick. They work hard, they have some kind of strength to be able to do it—but in honesty, I'm surprised they're not dead already being so underfed. They look like skeletons. At least, they'll get to have enough to eat for once in their life.

Days go by, they are transformed into trees for the opening ceremonies. They make no impression on anyone, not even me. I stare at them each meal trying to remember their faces—but they're so nondescript, so vague that they blur with countless others. They're slipping away from me.

The scores are given and Blight consoles them. He tells them they'll be underestimated that it'll give them more of a chance. He'd be right, of course, if they'd been doing that deliberately, but they had worked hard for their three and five scores. The interviews come, and they give no story that makes them loved. They don't rivet the audience, they aren't brilliant—they aren't anything really.

People have already begun to forget them and they aren't even dead yet.

…

Neither of them make it past the bloodbath. It's quick, and that's what matters in the end. I stay there with them watching over them until the bloodbath clears. The claws from the hovercraft reach down and pluck them up before moving away as the last cannon echoes in the distance.

A few of the mentors from other districts have already drifted out of the room. Some to begin taking shifts, and some because their tributes, like mine, are out of it. My coffee is barely cold when I set it down. My duties for the year are over.

I drift out and up to my room in the Training Center. Packing up my small bag, I head home to Raven's house. I know what waits for me there—Raven's arms to comfort me about the tributes I lost who never stood a chance. But there is no comfort he can give, and I have no actual pain for them. I didn't know them, I didn't want to know them really—it made it easier. All they were, were strangers dying on a screen.

…

Jacob smiles at me when I cradle him into my arms. Raven is sitting beside me on the rug in front of the fire, reading while playing with my hair. I count Jacob's tiny fingers and toes, so amazed at the cuteness of him—the perfectness of him. He blinks his eyes sleepily at me while wrapping his hand around my finger.

Why am I even holding him? What good can come of this? I can't love him. I shouldn't love him.

Raven puts his book down and kisses the side of my neck. "What's the matter Jo?"

"Nothing," I say as Jacob's eyes slide close. His fingers slowly relax and let go of my hand. I hand him off to Raven, watching the intent look on his face as he holds him.

"You'll have everything you could ever want," he whispers at the little boy while he strokes his downy head. I can see the look he gives Jacob—like he really is his. Everyone has accepted Jacob as his son, commented about how alike he looks to him. Raven and his little patchwork family.

I get up and leave the room, despite Raven's calling after me. Things are changing. Here is the chance to stop with the Rebellion for me—to have a good life with Raven. He's told me over and over again that if I ever change my mind about children, he'll make sure that they're safe from the Games. He's guaranteed me a life full of protection if only I'll have it.

But I've lost too much for that now.

I can't build a new life to replace the old one. I can't pretend it's a good as before. You can't replace people, you can't do that. I can't leave Finnick, and Annie to that. I can't leave them to life of sex and lies. I can't let them have children one day that will be reaped into the Games. I can't build a safe and happy life and pretend nothing ever happened.

I need revenge. I want revenge. Screw a way out, I don't want it. I'm going to do this for Ivan, for Ivy, for my Eve and Caine, for Henry, and most of all for myself.


	82. Malformed

This chapter is malfunctioned and will not update properly, please proceed to the next chapter.

Seriously, I don't know what the heck is wrong with it 0_o. I try deleting but it won't go away. It just stays...and stays...

Pretty much like the chapter from Districts of Hunger.

Guessing it's a glitch from the new roll out!


	83. Useless

_And we're back baby! Things have been a little rough, but things are getting back on track! Hoping to update on next Tuesday._

_If any of you picked up the The Wall Street Journal today, you got to see this story and I mentioned in an article about fanfiction called "The Weird World of Fanfiction." I hope you guys will check it out and thank you so much for being so supportive of this story and me! You guys are the best!_

_The article is also on WSJ online and it's written by Alexandra Alter._

_Also, you guys should totally check out Tears of Blood that I run along with the amazing Isabugg. The finale will be posted tomorrow, and we'll be bringing the sequel to you on Tuesday called Bring Them to Their Knees. It's on the 24authors24tributes account, I hope you'll check it out! We spend HOURS a day working on that._

**_Theres no committee that says, This is the type of person who can change the world and you cant. Realizingthat anyone can do it is the first step. The next step is figuring out how youre going to do it._**

**_ Adora Svitak _**

I fidget restlessly around the house. My whole body it jittery and my mind is wandering. Raven keeps asking me what's wrong or if I need anything, but I don't care to answer him.

I sit back down, but my restless legs are eager to be moving again. I cross them and recross them as I sit there. My fingers are drumming as I try to control my feelings. I've never felt like this in my entire life before. Even in the games, I never felt like this. At home, caring for my family despite how pitiful my attempts were—I never felt like this. I have never felt useless in my entire life.

Here I am, a Victor. I'm someone with status, with connections and I'm a part of a Rebellion. Yet, I sit here doing absolutely nothing. Before I was angry that they were using me, but still willing to be their tool—now they're not even using me. In the grand scheme of rebelling, I'm not useful anymore?

I curse under my breath before I get to my feet again. My fingers itch to smash a vase, but—well who cares? My fingers close around the vase and I hurl it against the wall. The flowers fly in all directions as glass shards and water spatter the wall.

It feels good. My fingers catch up a picture frame, and I sling it across the room—the sound of breaking glass somehow egging on my rage rather than diminishing it. They've taken everything from me! They've even taken my usefulness!

My fingers grip the table in the hall and I throw it across the room causing it to splinter just as Raven rushes in. He's shouting at me, asking me questions but I just throw something else. My arm clears off another table, the shards cutting fine little lines into my skin. The blood starts to trickle as my fingers grip a book and hurl it across the room. The solid thunk is satisfying as the pages fly up into the air and float down to the ground.

Suddenly, it's all gone though. I'm alone in the room, sometime in my tirade even Raven had left me to deal with this myself. I stand there barefooted amongst the glass, looking around at the destruction I've caused. Now that I'm done with my destroying, I don't feel any different at all—but while I was tossing things around and letting my rage consume me I felt…something. I don't know if you'd call it more alive or happy or enraged…But I didn't feel quite so useless for a few minutes.

Kneeling down, I start picking up the slivers of glass. The tiny pieces slice into my fingers as I drop them in the trashcan. But I'm not alone for long, without a word of admonishment or even a sound Raven is kneeling beside helping me clean up the mess I've made.

…

Jacob's little legs wobble as he stands there. Esther's arms are held out to him—offering comfort. His bottom lip trembles as he pushes his little foot forward and then another and another until he's in her arms. The look on her face is so devastatingly happy as he squeals happily into his mother's shoulder. He's eager to keep moving though, and she backs up a few spaces and he comes to her again, his hands catching in her hair.

Raven scoops him from her arms and kisses Jacob's forehead until he squeals with more laughter as his mother gets up off the floor. I don't listen to Raven talking to him or her, I just watch them. Seven months old and already walking some, there'll be no stopping him soon—or Raven for that matter.

The look on his face is evident. I know he wants kids—more now than before. If it was up to him, there'd be a house full of them—of ours. But the conversation ends each time it's brought up. I'm not ready or willing to love anything as much as I would a child—not now, not in a world like Panem. He tries to tell me that it would be different, that our children would be safe from the Reapings—safe from everything. And each time I tell him that it's not really my choice at all really. It's not fair of me to say, even I know that. He is kind to me—he loves me, but he also owns me. My whole life could be determined with one simple word from him.

Whenever I say it, the look on his face falters but he doesn't argue. He just let's me be, he lets me have that power over him. Sometimes, I wonder if it's really he who owns me and not the other way around despite the money involved.

Even though I wait for him to ask when we're alone, he doesn't. He pulls off his shirt and climbs into bed without his normal amourous advances. When I climb into bed beside him, his back is to me. In all the time we've slept together, he's never turned away from me and I find it bothers me when he does now.

My fingers slip around his middle and I nestle my head against his shoulder, but he doesn't respond to me. I can hear the way his heart rate changes, I can see his muscles tense but he ignores me. My nails dig into this chest slightly and my lips nip at his neck

"Not tonight," his voice is tight, controlled. He never puts off sex, he's never not interested so I nip at his ear again. His hand grips my wrist tightly, "Johanna, stop. I'm not in the mood, okay?"

He let's my wrist go and I pull it back to me. A part of me wants to hazard a question—ask him why he's being like this, and another part wants to just let it go. "Is this about your wanting kids?" I try to keep the pain out of my voice.

"Johanna, I don't want to talk about anything," he say tiredly. I'm contemplating on asking him why, when his next words strike me. "Sometimes, it's painful to be around you and I can't deal with it right now."

"Then tell me to leave," I say quietly while a strange mix of emotions rolls around inside of my body.

"I can't do that either, just…" His voice trails off and I see his shoulders tense as he turns more away from me, like he can't even look at me.

…

The Victor some girl from two comes to the Capitol for the ball thrown in honor of her Victory Tour. Her face is impassive, her hands dangling with jewels as she floats around the room from sponsor to sponsor. They remark about how gorgeous she looks, what an impressive recovery she's made after her insides were falling out by the sound of the last cannon.

Belvedere smiles graciously, the Capitolites missing the way that her smile is actually forced and the dark circles that the make-up barely covers up. She puts up a good-show of being blood-thirsty, sexy career until I catch her in an alcove with her falling out of it's intricate updo on the verge of a panic attack. Her nails are digging into her skin, and she's gasping for air unable to fill her lungs as she sits on the gound.

I jerk her up to her feet, and for a moment she fights me until I wrest her arms away and slap her across the face. Her eyes focus in on me as I direct her to put her hands on her head and breathe in deeply. It takes her awhile, but her heart rate slows down and her breathing resumes normal.

"Thank you," her voice is brittle and not used to thanking anyone. It's an effort for her to say it.

"We're Victors," I say. We have to stick together," but that's not the truth. Knowing what happened to her in the arena—the complete reconstruction of her left breast, the wounds to her ovaries and cervix that caused her to miscarry the child she didn't know she was pregnant with, and the inability to ever have a child made me hate her a little less though it still wasn't the reason I was here.

"I didn't think you were the kind that stuck with anyone," she says confusedly.

I hold my tongue, remembering the note that had been delivered this morning—the note that I burned up after reading her name. After months of being useless, I won't pass this opportunity up even if she is the one that killed one of my tributes. She's sympathetic to our cause, something that we need to cultivate in District two. "Only when it suits me," I say easily.

"And I suit you?" She raises an eyebrow.

"For now," I shrug my shoulders. I've planted the seed, my goal for the night.

Turning to leave, I feel her fingers dig into my arm. "Johanna," she sounds like a child as I turn back to her. "Don't leave me…yet." Her voice breaks, and I realize that this is going to be much easier than I thought.


	84. A Taste of Guilt

**Sorry, I didn't update last night. I hit my head getting out of the car pretty hard and wound up icing it and not doing much (went to bed early). It still hurts.**

**Car door: 1**

**Nina: 0**

**EDIT: Okay guys, I'm sorry to no have updated for SEVERAL days. It's not like me. I wound up having a concussion and to top it off, my computer has shut off and won't come back on. The chapter I was working on was on there...along with a crap ton of other things. I'm trying to get it back on long enough to save my stuff.**

**On there is my PERFECT finale of Districts of Hunger. I think my friend has a copy, but for some reason I can't find the copy I sent myself also so I'm kind of really pissed. I'm going ot see if I can get my desktop to cooperate with me. But please note that my updates are going to be sporadic if I can't get my desktop to work X_X I'm hoping it'll come back on/be fixed quickly or I may sit down and bawl if I can'tfind my back up copies X_X**

**_"Your nightmares follow you like a shadow, forever. "_**  
><strong><em>― Aleksandar Hemon, The Lazarus Project<em>**

Belvedere takes some time to talk to, if it wasn't for my need to be useful I'd have given up on her. She's got issues with pain—and from time to time slips back into the welcoming relief of morphling. I can understand that. I felt that way at first, but I hated that it clouded my clarity. When morphling leaves your system—that's it, you're right back where you started.

It takes three months before I can trust her enough to offer her an in.

Raven and I throw a party and lots of the Victors are there, Belvedere is tossing back drinks as fast as they are made. Finally, she's so far gone that I have to help her upstairs. She nestles down into the bed and cries because of the pain she's in—the drink hasn't deadened it tonight. I stroke her hair as she grimaces. The pain is supposed to fade away with time, but having most of your insides ripped out—that kind of thing will never completely fade.

I don't know if she'll remember in the morning, but I grip her shoulders and shake her. "Listen to me, you can't let them win." She's pathetic, and she makes me pity her—I hate to pity anyone.

"Who?" She looks at me through blurred eyes, trying to focus on me.

"The Capitol," I pause. "I can't give you drugs." My eyes dart back and forth looking at hers, trying to gauge some reaction. "I can give you something that will make it better." Her eyes widen, "I can give you revenge."

…

There's a knock at my door in the early dawn hours. I ease out of the bed and stalk over to open it. Belvedere stands there—disheveled. Her hands grip mine tightly as if I'm going to run from her, "Please, tell me it wasn't just a dream."

There's something desperate in her face, even more desperate than when she was fighting for her life in the arena. "It wasn't a dream," I confirm.

"Can we talk here? Does he know?" She nods toward the bedroom behind me.

"We can talk here, and…no." I lead her back to her room and explain to her what we're doing. She's eager to know everything that she can, but I've been told to give her only limited information until after her first assignment.

Her eyes are alight, feverish almost with their intensity, "My beloved, my Deiter. He'd want to help. He works in the mountain fortress where they keep all of the weapons. He can help, can't he?"

I've heard of the mountain fortress, we've been trying to get an in there for years I've been told. Lyme has to be extremely careful with who she asks. "What does he do there?"

Her lips curl into a small smile, "Security." She pauses, "He…wanted the baby desperately. It nearly-"

"I know," I cut her off not wanting to talk about lost children. "Bring him in, we'll need his help. But carefully, your house…everything is bugged. Talk to Lyme. Tell her, 'I've always wanted to know what a Magnolia smells like'."

She repeats it to me then asks, "Why that?"

"She has a Magnolia tree in her back yard. She's always loved them. Make sure to say it exactly right."

She repeats it a few more times to herself, "So what do I do first?"

"There's a man—Opal Nieve, who is expressing interest in you."

Her face tenses up, "He's a regular."

"There's a key that he wears around his neck, you need to get an imprint of it so that we can copy it." I give her the putty, and direct her on how to do it. She's eager and a perfectionist to boot.

"Get the key print. I can do that."

…

It's a few days before the Reaping when she comes to Raven's. She's about to leave back for the Districts. We go to the library office and shut the door, waiting a few moments before we dare to talk. She's tired, and I can see the lines of pain in her face—but she's off the alcohol, off the drugs so that she can be useful even if it means intense pain.

"Did you get it?"

She nods and I can see her eyes brimming with tears, "Yes." She holds out the palm of her hand, and there burned into her skin is the outline of the key. She begins to explain before I can say a word, "I couldn't get it away from him long enough. So while we were…together, I ripped it off of him and let it fall into the fire in his study. He was mortified, so I acted like a good little Victor and grabbed it out to give back to him. I gripped it hard so that the imprint would be good enough. I have an appointment first thing tomorrow before I go back to two, to have it erased."

I can't help but smirk as I cover her hand with ink so that we can make a print, "I think we're going to get along very well."

"Very well, Johanna. Very well," she smiles and I can see that she wants this as badly, as desperately as me even if she does have someone back home still.

…

The reaping is like every other. The speech goes on and on, and on. The kids look terrified and under fed. Somehow, it almost seems as if they look younger than usual even though they're not.

They all look at me with an air of trepidation and of respect. I'm universally disliked because of my nature, but respected because I'm still alive and because I throw things out for the soul reason of people being able to use it. It doesn't mean they want to sit and have tea with me. I think the universal reaction would probably be to run from.

In District two, it's all sexy and awesome to be bloodthirsty and angry. Maybe it gets people off? I can't pretend to know. But here, they majority of us have some humanity left and consider it monstrous to hack up bodies and show little remorse.

The first name is called before I even realize it, my eyes search the crowd for her until I see her moving forward with her bottom lip set. The girl has mousy brown hair, and wide brown eyes. She's only twelve, and she has that distinct air about her that shows she's from the community home. Her name is Isadora Bellamy. She'll never make it very far.

I've dealt with the fact that there's no one who's not a Victor who I care about, or have any feelings for in my District. They all mean nothing to me now. But when I hear his name, I realize that I was wrong.

He moves up from the fifteen year old sections and I feel a sickening rush of guilt that I didn't think I was capable of feeling again. My breath hitches, something in the vicinity of my heart throbs painfully. I almost feel the sickening urge to vomit because I _know_ him. Of all the people in the District who could be reaped, what are the odds that it'd be the brother of one of the tributes I sold out to save Annie? What are the odds that Eve Johan's little brother Acanthus was holding out his hand to shake mine as a tribute of the 73rd Hunger Games?

And there are no volunteers.


	85. Alliances Made

_****_**Ugh this...week, two weeks? UGH. I want to apologize. I did update but it didn't take. I even got the alert but it never updated...I have a concussion from hitting my head which I'm still struggling with-I can't focus and I'm achy and tired. Then to top everything off, my computer CRASHED. So I got a lot of stuff missing etc that I hadn't gotten a chance to save. In fact, the ending of Districts of Hunger is missing even though I have a back-up copy. My friend is looking to see if she has it-I hope so. So DoH is temporarily on hold till I can find out about that and get an ETA on my computer. **

**As for updates, I can't guarantee three a week right now as I'm having to share computers but I'm going to try. But please be gentle, this concussion is making things...difficult. So far now, just bear with me and I'll be trying to get out at least two updates a week barring more unforeseen complications!**

_**Enemies make you stronger, allies make you weaker.**_  
><em><strong>Frank Herbert<strong>_

They're led away to say goodbyes—where no one will be waiting for them. I hurry to the train, disregarding and pushing anyone who gets in my way. I brush past the cameras and into my room where I slam the door.

It could all just be a coincidence, it really could be…but it could all be planned. Does Snow himself know what I did? Was Acanthus chosen to torture me more? Not a night has gone by that I haven't thought of Eve and Caine, that I haven't felt guilty for what I did to them. Yet—I'd do it all again, because Finnick needs Annie even if she's broken, even if saving her broke a little piece of me.

I pace the room, trying to process what was going to happen. He'd been reaped, he was going into the arena—I owed it to Eve and Caine to try my best to save him. If he was anything like Eve, he'd have at least a chance in the arena, but just a chance.

I ignore the knock on the door, but he enters anyways—Nicholas. He's his usual complacent self. My brows knit together as I look at him lost in his own precious world that he seldom leaves. "What do you want?" I shoot at him.

He smiles, "Well you rushed off, I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm just fine. Get out." I cross my arms and turn away from him.

"You know it wasn't your fault, don't you?"

I laugh bitterly, "And how would you know what is or isn't my fault?"

"You can't save them all. I mean, they were good but…" He pauses delicately.

"But what? Don't pretend to understand, Nicholas. I'm not in the mood for you to try to soothe me," my fingernail dig into my palms as I stand there.

"If it makes you feel better to be a raging beast—then by all means rage."

"Nothing has been about how I _feel_ for a long time," I whirl around to glare at him.

He shrugs his shoulders gently as if he's talking to a stubborn child, "It's not your fault Johanna, no matter what you believe." He turns and exits the room, shutting the door slowly behind him. He doesn't know how wrong he is.

…

The train ploughs down the tracks as we sit down to our meal. This year besides for Nicholas and I, Blight and Haemon have decided to come at the last minute. Maybe they think I'll fall apart and need them when these tributes die or something. Maybe they're actually trying to help have a competent and complete crew to help them, who knows?

Isadora and Acanthus dig into their food with fervour. Blight warns them to take it slow, and they heed it but I don't care about their food habits. I'm more interested in assessing them. Isadora is a little bigger up close with wide blue eyes like Liam. She's wispy, but she could last at least a little longer than I initially thought. Acanthus though—he's not strong in the traditional way. He's thin and tall, like a sapling that hasn't gained girth yet. There's a tense kind of set in his shoulders, and I can see the hand prints on his arms where the sleeves are rolled up. He's been knocked around, not too bad for a kid from the Community Home, so he can at least fight back.

"What work do you do? What are you good at?" I shoot at them.

"Let them eat in peace, Johanna." Blight looks at them kindly, almost fatherly.

"I'm not here to coddle them, I'm here to help them or watch them die. So what can you do?" I glare at them both, and Isadora's gaze does not falter as she looks at me bemusedly.

Acanthus finishes chewing the piece of pork chop before he answers, "I work the tree-tops like Eve did." He looks up into my eyes with interest, "Do you remember her?"

I'm taken back by the sincerity of the question. I had expected animosity, not…this. "I remember Eve," I repeat a little more quietly as I continue to face him.

He doesn't push it further, "Isadora picks up the kindling."

I wince slightly, but she responds. "I can do some minor healing, too."

I look back and forth between them, assessing their chances. He does have a chance, he's got her grit—he knows how to do without and he's nimble. "What else are you good at Acanthus?"

"I've got good aim, I can throw an axe. I know how to make one too," he pauses. "I'm not scared of blood and I've got nothing to lose either way."

I can't help but smile at him. He's definitely has Eve's grit. But before I can say anything, he cuts me off.

"We're going to be allies, Isadora and I." He continues to eat his food in the wake of his announcement as if nothing happened.

"The hell you are," I say.

He stands and I can see a carefully concealed rage pushing at the surface, his dark hair and his bright blue eyes are striking as he looks down at me. "We work together or screw your chances of bringing us home."

I stand up and scream back at him, "It's suicide! You two aren't compatible!"

"Eve and Caine did it," he grits his teeth as he stares at me.

"They were different," I hiss back. "They had skills. They were older, taller, and stronger. Tether that little girl to you and you're asking to get killed."

Isadora cuts in, "She's right Acanthus. We're better off separate."

"I'll follow you then, but we're sticking together. So you can both get on board with the idea."

I'm seething with rage, about to yell again when Haemon's hand clamps down hard on my arm. He may be old, but he can still bruise me with his vice-like fingers. I can see that he's looking at Isadora.

My eyes go to her as she sits there taking a tiny breath. Something flicks in her eyes, something strong and iron-like in intensity. There's a bright fervor in her eyes when she smiles at Acanthus, "Together then."

Stupid kids, going to get themselves killed with their morals and ideals.

I yank my hand away from Haemon and storm out of the dining car and back to my room.


	86. Lost Causes

**__I had planned to put this up yesterday, but it's just going up now. My head is still giving me issues. I'm dizzy on and off. Right now if I'm walking around too much, I start getting sick and dizzy. I'm hoping to update on Saturday and try to get swinging back into regular updates. Districts of Hunger is on Hiatus until I find out if I need to rewrite the rest of it or if my computer still has the files.**

**Anyways, going to try to get on to replying to reviews etc soon. Just bear with me I still feel...awful. But Raven is back, please enjoy! I sure did! And Finnick should be back soon ^_^ XD**

**_And you know that you fight for the lost causes harder than for any others._**

**_Jefferson Smith from Mr. Smith Goes to Washington_**

All night long, I see them die over and over again. Eve and Caine have never left me. I can still see their hands reaching for each other, struggling to hold on—to hope, maybe even pray that one of them would survive even if it meant dying in the process. Some how, they kept their humanity throughout the Games—even when they killed.

In some ways, it's a relief that they neither of them lived. I don't know if I or any other Victor could bear to look them in the face after how they played. It's how my Game could have been if I'd let Wren in, if I'd let him help me.

I give up on sleeping after I wake up from one terrifying nightmare after another. My clothes are drenched with sweat, and my heart is racing after the last one. It stared off like the others—with Eve and Caine until it morphed into Isadora and Acanthus at the end, floating face down in the water.

I pace the train floor and even though I'm tired there's no point in trying to sleep. My mind whirrs coloured by my emotions. What am I going to do for him? I can't help him, if he's not going to even help himself. How can I do anything for him when he wants to tether himself down to that girl? Alone, maybe I could get him some resources and help. But with her?

I shower but the hot water doesn't clear my mind like it usually does. I dress and head to the dining car to get a cup of coffee. If I'm going to be awake, I might as well be useful. But when I get there, I'm surprised to see that Haemon is there sitting.

He turns toward me and nods his head lightly, "I won't bother saying Good morning or good night, clearly it's been neither for you."

I sit down as an avox brings me a cup of coffee. Green eyes, brown hair—not him, my mind registers. "I think that's the most you've ever said to me Haemon," I gulp the coffee despite the burn it gives my mouth and taste buds.

"Never needed to say anything before," he flips on the TV.

"And so what are you saying now?" I pull my legs up to me on the couch.

He gets up heavily, and stretches a bit stiffly before tossing me the remote. He stands in front of me, his eyes twinkling. "Don't worry, things will work themselves out," he starts to move off to his room.

"What the hell does that mean?" I shoot back.

"It means shut your mouth and watch things before you react sometimes Johanna. It'll help in the long run," he smiles at me as he hovers by the arm of my chair.

"You know something I don't," I state surprised.

"I know a lot of things you don't Johanna," he pats my shoulder and leaves me without another word.

The tv flickers and I see that the Reapings are being repeated like normal. I turn the sound up and settle in to watch, since I skipped out on it all earlier. I was too enraged to be in the same room as Acanthus or to deal with the looking at the ones who were going to kill him.

Like always the pairs from one are deadly—Anaon and Dexter. She's a little on the small side with red hair, but the way that even Dexter recoils from her shows what kind of girl she is. Dexter is just typical of the district. Two has Ace and Xyla, who are both well over six foot tall and domineering. Three is unimpressive, four is typical. There's a stand-out from eight—Syntha who looks relatively well-fed and dexterous. I try to watch them again when they replay, but I can't focus on it. The names flit by and meld with Aeon, Triton, Henry, and a host of other dead tributes. Maybe it'll be easier after the chariot rides.

The night creeps by as I stay lost in my thoughts. It's still dark out as the others start drifting in for breakfast before we embark in the Capitol. Everyone remains silent, not even Sibyll tries to say a word.

When we disembark from the train, my eyes are once again assaulted with the flash of camera lights. But it's not that that disorients me, it's who's pushing heavily through the crowd. The sound of the crowd fades down as Raven draws closer to me. My heart starts to speed up, despite myself.

His hand touches my waist lightly, tentatively—waiting for my response the way he always does. I crash into him, my fingers weaving up into his hair and my body pressing into his almost vulgarly. There's a hot fire coursing through me until it feels too hot to keep my clothes on—or his. My fingers drift toward his belt when his hand stops me and we part breathless.

He gives me that smirk of his that's reserved for me when I amuse him. I'd been afraid that, after his turning away from that night so many months ago, things would change. I'd never seen him throw me off or act…so upset with me. For some reason, it affected me more than I cared to even think about. Ever since then, I've been more careful of his feelings—more concerned that he might toss me out. He's more than just some—

His hand is more firm on my waist as he pushes me along. It's easier for him to guide me through the crowd that way—he almost commands them. Blight tells me I'm not needed for chariot preparations and that I should just unwind. I'm in no mood to disagree.

By the time the car gets to his house—our house, he wants me to call it—his coat, tie, and my underwear are on the floor. We disentangle and make our way into the house. In the shadowy entrance hall, my hand rests on the side of his face until he leans into it and kisses my palm. Something like butterflies floats in my stomach.

Our lips meet again more feverish than before, but the sound of Jacob's laughter somewhere not far off breaks us away. We've got a kid to worry about. My lips are so close they're still brushing his when I speak—more like pant, "Upstairs. Now."

We race into his room and the door barely closes behind us, before he's jerked me off the floor and pinned me to it with his body. I fight against the fabric of the tight sheath of my dress until I can wrap my legs around his waist—there's a sound of a not so subtle ripping.

"You don't care for that dress, I hope." Raven's teeth bite into my neck hard.

I gave out a small cry. "I hate it," I whisper back.

"Good," his hands drop me back to the floor before he rips the dress open at the seams.

I smile back at him devilishly, "Two can play like that." My hands pull at his shirt, and buttons fly off in all directions as we crash together again.

…

We fall to the bed and I take in the scent of the sheets as I bury my face into them. His lips press into the back of my shoulder softly and I turn to him, pressing my lips onto the front of his shoulder. "Why did it have to be him?"

"Hmm," he says he runs his fingers through my hair—now down to my mid-back.

"Eve's brother," I say as I look up at him. "Now he's here and he wants to ally with Isadora. He's going to get himself killed."

He kisses the tip of my nose and closes his eyes a minute, "Sometimes coincidences happen."

"I killed her though, her and Caine," the knot in my chest loosens for a second—it's the first time I've said it out loud. I don't say anymore. I don't say that I see them every night or that I feel guilty and that this is punishment.

"It's not your fault," he looks at me in concern. He's the one person who knows, the one person I can talk to about it and he's trying to pacify me. I open my mouth to speak, but he stops me.

"When I met you, I made you a deal for what you wanted. I didn't have to. I didn't need to. I could have had you without it. I wanted to make you happy, so I gave you what you wanted. If you want to blame someone, it's my fault." He pushes my hair back from my face and kisses the tip of my nose. "It's not your fault."

I bury my face into his shoulder, "Don't worry Johanna. I know you. You'll fight harder for him than he could even fight for himself. If it's possible for anyone, you'll bring him home."

And even though, I still think it is my fault—it's not my burden alone anymore. My heart beats loudly as he leans over me to kiss me again. The kiss lingers and then deepens, and I'm aware again that I feel more for him than I like to admit. It's not indifference, it's not hate…In fact, I seem to care an awful lot.


	87. Drowning in the Past

_****_**Sorry this is late again. I'm struggling right now and apparently FF is struggling about putting my updates up...so in this battle, I admitted defeat for the weekend.**

**I'll be updating Tuesday or Wednesday hopefully.**

_**"When people show up in your dreams, it's not because they want something from you. It's because you want something from them."**_

_**—**_

_**Emily Fields, Pretty Little Liars, Season 2, Episode 9**_

_His hands grip my shoulders and push me under the water unexpectedly. There's no before, I'm just there with the feel of his hands on my shoulder and then I'm under sucking water into my lungs. It sears and burns, and I'm flailing wildly trying to dig my fingers into his skin and get away. I'm failing, growing weaker—whatever air I had left is seeping out as I look into the muddy bottom of the water. _

_This is it. I'm going to die._

_Suddenly, I feel a jolt and his weight falls off of me and I'm to the surface gagging and coughing. Water is spilling from my nose and mouth, I'm gasping trying to figure out what's going on. Someone is near by, my mind tells me in its tangled process. That's when I see them._

_The boy who held me under is Riley, and his head is bashed in, staining the water red. Slow, swirling eddies are drifting out further into the water before disappearing. How though? He's dead. I killed him. I killed him years ago._

_But then I see them. Just as tall and composed as ever. Blue eyes, dark hair and that way of standing so familiar to our district…Eve and standing near her is Caine. They're looking at me with something unfathomable on their faces, and it's even harder to breath now. They're dead. They're all dead. Am I dead?_

_I struggle to my feet dizzily and out of the water. I'm shivering as I stand there. Caine reaches out his hand to me, his lips move to form words but there's no sound. I shake my hair out and rub my finger in my ear, but there's no sound from him. There's the sounds of the forest—the wind, but not from them._

_They look at each other and carry on a conversation that I can't hear. There's concern etched on Caine's face and surprise on Eve's. They're whole and healthy. While they continue to talk, I reach out and touch Caine to discover he's tangible. This _is_ real?_

_He turns to look at me confusedly for a moment before the sound comes to us all. To others, it might have been nothing—but to people like us, accustomed to times spent in the woods the sound is all wrong. It is the sound of someone approaching. _

_Each of our eyes lock on to the tree line as a shadow starts to move forward. Eve runs toward it, and I want to warn her. I want to protect her and tell her to not be too foolish, but what can I do? She's already dead, isn't she?_

_It's then that I see it's him. It's Acanthus who walks out of the woods straight toward me. "Johanna," he looks surprised. "Why are you in the arena?"_

_Eve is running to him, but he doesn't speak to her. He doesn't pay any attention to him as she runs into—no…through his arms. The momentum knocks her on to the ground. I see the hurt and confusion in her face as she stand ups. She tries to touch him, but nothing happens. _

"_Why are you here?" He asks again._

_She's here and he's here. It's too weird, too surreal. But how can I touch both the living and the dead? _

_Her face is streaked with tears, and her face is red. She appears to be screaming, but no sound comes from her. She starts to sob, her bottom lip trembling—I never saw her this week._

"_I love you," the words break from her lips in a whisper but crystal clear. "You've got to come home Acanthus. You're going to be okay." She realizes I can hear her, and she latches onto my arm. She struggles for words but no others but his reach my ears._

"_Johanna. Are you okay? Johanna!"_

I awake with a jolt, my whole body drenched in sweat. I'm sitting upright without realizing or remembering the movements. I feel my body begin to shake as I look around wildly.

I'm in the Capitol. I'm at Raven's house. Raven is sitting beside me looking concerned. It was his voice that was talking to me. I pull myself to the edge of the bed and put my feet on the floor and my face in my hands. I take a deep breath.

Acanthus isn't here. Eve and Caine aren't here. They're dead. I'm not dead. The thoughts swirl in my head and then settle like dust as the frightening dream world fades away. I hate these god forsaken games!

His voice is like a glass of water, and he touches my shoulders tenderly. I want to be comforted by him, I want to crawl into him and cry, but I can't. I can't give in to those emotions—not even this once. I've fought these feelings before, and I have to keep fighting them. If I let them take me over, I may never surface again and I can't risk that.

I pull away from him and climb to my feet, "I need to get ready for the chariots." I rifle through my closet to find a dress, but I'm distracted when he appears behind me. His hand reaches past me and pulls out a familiar red dress. "Why that one?"

"Because the first time you wore it, you'd known all along you were going to win." He smiles then kisses me softly. "It'll bring you good luck," he says.

"I don't believe in good luck," I shoot back even though I've decided to wear it anyways. That dress has always felt like winning to me.

"Well, it can't hurt can it? And fine, don't' believe in luck—believe in yourself."

Now that's something I can believe in.

…

By the time I arrive back at the Training Center, there's only an hour to go until it's time for the chariots. A quick peek confirms my worst suspicions—trees…_again_. Ugh, seriously?

I go to my room, and adjust my make-up while I play with my necklace. I'm lost in thoughts in which my dream comes back to me over and over again. Well really, it's more a nightmare than a dream.

There's a soft knock at the door. If I just ignore it, maybe they'll go away. But I've never had any such…luck. The door knob turns and in glides Acanthus, decked out with vines and stuff supposedly depicting him as some kind of tree. Anyone from district seven would never call it anything close to that—maybe a shrub though.

"What do you want?"

His brow furrows in rage, so unlike Eve. "Haemon said to give you my token to be approved. I didn't see the point." He hands it to me, palm up with it in his hand. "After all, it's been here before."

The sight of it along with his words make my heart constrict almost painfully. I'd recognize it anywhere. It's a tiny little toy that was Eve's token in her games.

_Her eyes flash blue as she talks. It's obvious how much she loves her little brother Acanthus._

"_We don't have toys in the Community Home. One month we were extra hungry, and it was so dreadfully cold. I'd get up in the middle of the night and sneak out so that I could raid the garbage bins before the others. My fingers were turning colours, and I wanted to go back so that I could share my blankets with Acanthus and keep warm. That's when I found it. There was a whole little set of broken toys there. There were chips missing here and there, but they could still be played with. I took them back with me, along with a few scraps."_

"_The morning was a holiday they use to have back before we were Panem, a day called Christmas where people gave gifts." Her voice was animated, her eyes sparkling with delight. "So when we woke up, I told him we were having Christmas. We ate our scraps—more than we'd eaten in days. And I gave him his gift. You should have seen his face light up. He was the only toys he had. He was five that year, and I was ten."_

_She held up the toy—a solidly made horse. Its features were weathered away from constant use but it was intact and very strong looking. "This was his favorite piece. When I was reaped, he asked me to take it with me and think of why I had to come home."_

The ghost of her smile fades from my memory as I take it in my hand, "I'll get it approved. Now finish getting ready." I shoo him out of the room and sit there staring at yet another reminder of the girl I killed—the girl who could have won.


	88. The Flickering Flame

**__Still using the computer that is hard to type on. You have to slam the space bar and the x to make them work. SO thing are going slow because it's really hard to have to slam keys to space. Takes FOREVER. Hopefully, I can get my computer fixed soon so that then we can get this one fixed .**

**Next update will either be Saturday or Sunday hopefully. I've got something IRL going on-so it might delay it. Stick with me though, I'll keep updating at least twice a week-more when my computer is all better.**

**_The spread of civilisation may be likened to a fire; first, a feeble spark, next a flickering flame, then a mighty blaze, ever increasing in speed and power._**  
><strong><em>Nikola Tesla<em>**

The Gamemakers hardly bother to look at the artifact before giving it back. "I remember this, it's harmless." He tosses it back in my hand as he goes back to his primping.

There's a car waiting to take me to the square where the other Victor's will be. The people are already beginning to line the street in their flamboyant attire, eagerly pointing at my car as it goes by. Their annoyance helps to pull me out of my depressing thoughts.

I'm deposited at the circle and led to a roped off area, milling with people—Victors, celebrities, and politicals. I ignore them all, too—well myself to put up with their stupidity.

The sun starts going down, and all of the glass surfaces of the Capitol reflect it brilliantly. I'm startled from my thoughts by a large hand settling firmly around my waist and gripping me tightly and possessively. I don't shrink away from his touch, but instinctively curl into him.

He smells like sun and salt and something that's just so Finnick. His fingers run through my hair as I grip onto him tightly for a moment. I can feel his cheek resting against my temple, as the tell-tale flashes of cameras occur.

He pulls away from me slightly and smiles down at me, "It's been too long."

"I've missed you," I admit unable to keep honesty out of my voice.

His twirls my hair around my finger, "Your hair is long, I like it."

"He asked me too. I did it for him," there's so many things I want to ask Finnick but it's not safe to here. I lower my eyes a moment, as if I'm fumbling at conversation. We created a code a few months ago, during my long stay in the Capitol with Raven. Finnick and I wanted to be able to communicate certain things anywhere.

I look back up into his eyes, and I can see the circles of exhaustion under them. "How's the weather been back home?" _Is everything okay in District 4?_

"Sunny, but windy." _Sunny—good, but windy-emotional/troubled_. He smiles tiredly, "I brought you a seashell, but I broke it." _Seashell means Annie. She's still struggling since her Games._

"It'll be alright, Finnick." He hands me the shell from his pocket. "Nothing a little glue won't fix." _She's going to be okay._

I stare at the shell, touching it's smooth but fractured surface as he asks, "And what about seven?"

"Nothing to speak of, not even a fire." _No problems at all. Nothing._

"What's this? Victors just talking about the weather?" Caesar Flickerman strides up, smiling.

Finnick smiles brilliantly and grips me tighter as he notices the camera focused on us, "Well, talking about anything with Johanna is always scintillating."

"I think you mean scathing," I retort flashing a barely tolerable grimace.

"Just look at them folks, beautiful and deadly, talking about absolutely anything." He pauses, "So Finnick, I heard that you've been seeing Petria Devenco is that so?"

Finnick flashes his dazzingly white teeth—the fake smile he uses when he's uncomfortable. "I'm not the kind to kiss and tell Caesar, you know that."

"Well who can keep up with your lips Finnick?" Both of them laugh as if it's some big joke.

I smile sweetly, my hand touching Caesar's with an almost caress. He flinches almost noticeably when I touch him, but he recovers. What must I look like to him in the old dress from my interviews? But now the composure and the power is more than a façade as I run a long nail over the back of my hand. "I think Raven was looking for you," I flash my teeth in a wide smile like a shark.

"I'll b-be sure to catch up with him," he coughs as if it's the reason his voice quavered. He motions for the camera to be cut, "What—does he want?" Caesar looks worried.

"It must have escaped my pretty little head," I shrug nonchalantly. "You must…owe him something?" People are always owing Raven something—favours, money, or their life. Sometimes, all three.

Caesar straightens his lapel, "Well half of Panem owes him something." He tries to wave it away like it means nothing, but I'm not tired of playing with him yet.

"But he's not asking to see Panem Caesar, he's looking for _you"_

"You'll talk with him, Johanna? I—" He pauses delicately, "It would be very inopportune for him to call our wager right not." So they really did have a bet then and more than Caesar could pay. "A favour for an old friend?"

I grit my teeth, "Since when have we ever been friends Flickerman?" I lean close to him, my lips almost grazing his ear while my other hand covers it. "You know what Flickerman reminds me of? A candle," my voice is soft. "Flickering light. I can't wait till he puts out your flickering candle. Got it?"

He starts to pull away, but my hand grips his chest and pulls him back, "But I'm enjoying watching you squirm too much. I'll ask him to give you some more time. Remember whose boots you should be licking."

I let him go, shooing him away with my hand like a mosquito and he takes the hint.

Finnick laughs, "Now that's my Johanna."

…

The chariots come, and Snow does his speech while I dream about sinking an axe into the front of his pristine white shirt—I really think, he could use a splash of crimson. I glance around the square and watch as District 2 gets most of the screen time with their hulking frames.

Soon it's over and they're taken away—back to the Training Center. The throng of Victors starts to move about more—Enobaria, Brutus, Lyme, and Belvedere move through the people with ease. Everyone gives them a wide path while they move about and talk of seeing people at the next party. Belvedere's eyes met mine for half a second, before she sinks her nails into an older man and bats her lashes.

Cashmere and Gloss move together as always—this is the first time I really looked at Cashmere since she was pregnant. She looks composed, her body svelte and her demeanor casual. I wonder how much of it is an act? But she's got two sisters of age or close to it, tethering her allegiance to the Capitol.

Finnick flutters away like moth to a flame on his way to the Capitol parties. He has previous liaisons lined up for him, but he promises to come to me as soon as he can.

I make my way back to the Training Center, unwilling and unable to go raise funds. He'll get what he needs in the arena through Raven or friends if need be. Plus, there are a few of my patrons that stay betting on and helping District 7 because of some love of me. I find them the oddest.

Isadora and Acanthus are sitting on the couch, drinking hot chocolate and watching the chariot rides. Isadora practically squeals as she watches the light of the Capitol and the beautiful costumes. She's making the best of her limited time, but Acanthus is serious—his face lined as he holds her hand.

I want to tell him, she's not Eve. But then, he's not either.

Acanthus looks up at me, "So what's our strategy?"

I pour a glass of vodka before I answer him, "Since you're set on this alliance."

"I am," he shoots back.

"Are you going to look for others or not? Alliances are—" I pause.

"They're liabilities; it'll just be us two." He nods his head.

"Well, then I think your strategy should be to pray," I down the glass.

Haemon clears his throat, and I look at him once again focused on Isadora. I stare at her, trying to figure out what he's seeing in her calm and composed face that I don't. She's completely serene.

"Fine, you train. See what you're good at. Don't be too obvious with the axes, get a feel and do everything you can. Try to learn something. Make sure two doesn't step on Isadora," I smile slightly. "Learn about them, tell me everything."

They talk a little longer before turning in, and I'm left alone. I take a drink to my room, and lay back thinking of the chances that will give Acanthus the best of getting out alive—but none of them involve Isadora.

…

A whisper of a movement brings me instantly awake, my eyes peeking beneath my lids to what caused me to wake. Slipping into the room is Finnick, smelling like expensive perfume and alcohol. He slips off his shoes and sits down beside me while I make a face. "You smell like Capitol" I sneer.

"I know how to fix that," he laughs.

Before long, we're in the shower—finally free to really talk. I scrub his hair trying to get the perfume smell out, it almost seems to have seeped into his pores. He washes my back as we continue talking.

"Belvedere's done good. Lyme is ecstatic to have someone from her District helping. Deiter is helping to, all kinds of information has been pouring out. He's got a good job in the fortress—good enough to get us stuff we've wanted for years."

"How soon?" I whisper, scared and eager.

"We need a catalyst, someone to enrage everyone and unite them. When it comes, we'll be ready." He pauses, and tilts my chin up so that I'm looking at him, "It could have been you, you know? People would have followed you."

"Maybe that's what I didn't like," I whisper back. "I might have made a spark, but it didn't catch light—when the right person comes along, nothing will stop the inferno from growing. Not us, not Snow, not anything."


	89. Drug of Choice

**Hey guys, sorry this wasn't up last night-I had to go somewhere and got back late so I didn't have time to finish this. Next update should be up early Thursday morning, and it should conclude the rest of the time before the arena up to right before launch. Trying to work on getting back to all of the reviews-it's really difficult with this keyboard. **

**Just so everyone knows, I have to slam the space bar forcibly to make it space so writing takes twice as long- and that's if I'm lucky enough to not get lag. But again, next chapter should be up early Thursday unless some more IRL stuff comes up. Hopefully, I'll figure out something with my computer soon.**

**If you get responses back from me with...writing issues, please remember my poor keyboard LOL.**

**So once again, I want to apologize for my inconsistent updates. I'm doing the best I can with not having my computer. When it's back things will be much more back on schedule.**

_**"I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom."**_  
><em><strong>― Edgar Allan Poe<strong>_

Sleeping with Finnick is different from sleeping with anyone else. Raven holds me gently, but Finnick holds me possessively. Maybe you have to be a Victor to understand how tightly you have to hold something, even in sleep, if you don't want it taken from you.

When I sleep alone, I can hear every sound. It's always like I'm barely sleeping—like I'm in that light sleep that reminds me forcibly of the arena. When I'm with Raven, I feel…protected like it's hard to reach me, but with Finnick—despite the lack of power we have, I feel_ safe_.

He sleeps deeply with his hand draped over me. His brow is furrowed and his lips move without sound. I run my hand over his forehead, and into his hair. His face unwrinkles and smoothes the way Greta and Sven's did when I comforted them. The pain of their names hits me hard, instinctively I move closer to Finnick who tightens his grip on me. If anyone else did this, I'd feel like I was suffocating, like I need to get away—but with Finnick it lulls me into sleep.

…

The early morning light seeps around the edges of the curtains and right into my eyes. Finnick still is lost in peaceful slumber, and I can't bear to wake him. It's so rare that he gets to rest and rest well—the tributes can fend with their other mentors.

The hours kind of fade away as I stroke his hair thinking of the way I use to curl up with Liam before he was gone. I had been so sure he was coming home, so certain that he'd come back to me and hold me again through my nightmares. But he didn't come home—not like that, and instead I was the one comforting nightmares and taking care of the family. Finnick has been doing that for a long time too, and it's time like these that we can get a little of our past back.

His voice is boyish and confused as he presses his face into my shoulder liker a child trying to hide from morning, "How long did you let me sleep?"

"Noon," I push his hair back.

"How long have you been awake?" He looks up at me as he rolls on to his back and stretches.

"Four or five hours," I pull my stiff body out of bed and grab up some clothes. "I didn't want to wake you."

"My tributes need me," he presses a button on the wall. "Send me some clothes up, fresh ones." He presses the button again, turning the intercom off.

"They have other mentors, you're no good to them if you're not sleeping." I comb out my hair and let it hang down my back and adjust the blue dress. "Get me some shoes," I apply some crimson lipstick and blot it as Finnick hands me a pair of sky-high blue stilettos. I slip them on and twist the necklace on my face absently while Finnick gets the door.

Much to my chagrin it's Coral and not an avox that brings him his clothes. She saunters in, her lips twisting manically up into her scar. "Hello Jo," she says in a half-sing song voice. "So _pleasant_ to see you again."

I pull my lips back into a sneer, "Wish I could say the same."

She gets up close me, her petite frame still imposing and her eyes half crazed, "One day—"

"Enough girls," Finnick grabs her and pulls her back as she laughs sadistically. "Let's not ruin my day by a fight, even if you don't mind ruining your own."

"I was just going," I say through clenched teeth.

…

The day passes quickly as I make the usual round of sponsors. I'm careful, but still I only net a handful of sponsors—most of those because of who I am or who Raven is rather than on Acanthus merit. I even get one kind soul who says if the girl of mine suffers to give her something that will ease her out—that he'll pay.

It's just past sunset when I physically run into a large mass that feels like a stone wall. I push back without looking, before I'm pushed back harder. I crane my head up to look and I recognize the face looking down at me from posters from my childhood—Lyme Verstat.

Even though we're in this Rebellion together, I've never met her—she often stays behind and let's Brutus and some other willing consort. She looks down at me impassive and I know she knows who I am too, "Mason," she says in a low, rich voice. "I've heard a lot about you."

"All the stories are true," I shoot back as I give her another shove that doesn't even move her.

"Definitely true," she turns toward the Training Center. "You're going back aren't you?"

"For now," I reply as I fall in step beside her.

She's quiet for awhile, not at all eager to talk. There's so much that I want to ask her, but I can't here in the Capitol. "Where's Finnick?" I look at her in confusion, "Just figured he'd be with you."

"And why's that?" I shoot back.

"Haymitch has his alcohol, Noralee her morphling, I have my maps and history studies to focus on, you have Finnick, and Finnick has you. It all comes to your drug of choice—substance, knowledge or person."

She falls into silence and I keep it for awhile, "He was going out for sponsors." She nods, as I continue on. "We all find ourselves looking for them this time of year in one way or another."

Lyme checks her watch, "You're right about that. I've got an invitation to see Heavensbee tonight."

I sneer, but her face is impassive. "I didn't think you'd be his…taste."

For a moment, it looks like Lyme smiles, "You'd be surprised at what kind of acquired tastes Plutarch Heavensbee has." She turns and leaves me alone confused by her words, as she disappears on to another side street.

…

The rest of the evening goes by in a blurr. Acanthus tells me about the others in training while Isadora chimes in every once in awhile with a comment. The general consensus is the same as the ones I noticed—the pairs from one and two, and the girl from eight.

They talk about strengths and weaknesses and things they learned, but all I can hear is the sounds of inevitable cannon fire.


	90. Note of sicknesssevereallergicreaction

I hate to give notes. But I owe you one. I've not abandoned you, but because of some severe medical problems, IRL family issues, and computer issues I've not been able to update lately.

I'm hoping and praying that whatever these reactiosn are soon they can stop me from breaking out an hives and goign to the ER. They're working on it. But I am not leaving you, just bear with me for a few more weeks while I get in to be seen at an allergyist and please pray for me.

Thank you.


	91. Chasing Paper

**OMG STOP THE PRESSES IT"S AN UPDATE! OH YEAH BABY! This is a bit longer than my latest few. It's got a good deal of...meat to it. It moves through some of the action quickly and it settles you into where you need to be. Updates are still going to be skewed. I've had a few more reactions (with lip swelling) and my allergy shots start the 21st and I leave for a week vacay on Sept 25-Oct. 2. My hope is to be back to you guys FULLY by the time I get back.**

**For now though, the goal is one to two updates a week on this story depending on how my body is behaving. So if things go well, there may be an update on Wednesday. If things don't, I should still have an update on Saturday/Sunday.**

**Thank you for bearing with me. And thank you ever so much for your prayers, you don't know how much they've been appreciated with the illness and family drama. It's not over by a long shot. There's been a lot of things that I'll probably talk about more later since I tend to overshare. But really, thank you guys for giving me the time to get better and waiting for me to come back.**

**I love you all.**

* * *

><p><em>"Sometimes carrying the burden of an upsetting truth, and hiding it, is actually a gift you give to someone else. You bear that burden, so they don't have to, in a situation where telling them will change nothing."<em>

_Cassandra Clare_

* * *

><p>The scores go up on the screen, the pair from one, Anaon and Dexter, getting an eight and nine while the pair from two, Xyla and Ace, pulls twin ten's—probably from their psychical looks alone. I've not seen someone so massive at such a young age—besides for Lyme. Isadora pulls a three and Acanthus lands a six. Then Syntha from eight gets a resounding eight, and a stand out from eleven surprises with a seven—Scythe.<p>

The others congratulate them as if their scores are good—at best they're abysmal unless they're wanting to be underestimated, which is something they can't afford. Acanthus, at least, showed promised. Why then did he score so badly unless he wanted to score low…It would be like him to try to mirror or match her score so that they could slip by without problems, but it was a stupid approach.

I call Acanthus to the side, "You threw your score." I don't even ask him, I know now.

"Yeah," he looks at me evenly squaring his shoulders subtly.

"I'm your mentor, you're supposed to tell me or one of us. Do you know how stupid that was?"

"It worked well enough for you, unless you're calling yourself stupid," he shoots back.

I breathe deeply trying to keep my cool. Gritting my teeth, I spoke again. "We can't help you, if we don't know what you're doing. Don't you want to come home?"

"I do, but why do you care so much?'

I stand there and the words well up in my throat. He's irritating, he's strong, and I owe him. I owe him. I remember the launch of my own games and I remember the icy cold hatred that drove me to come home when Blight told me that he was responsible for Liam's death. It was hatred that drove me, pushed me hard to get home just so I could kill Blight.

Maybe I should tell him of the role I had in his sister's death? Maybe he needed the drive, maybe he needed the extra incentive to want to come back. Hatred can take you a long way.

I answer him simply, "Because you're my tribute, and it's my job."

…

The day seems to speed by so impossibly fast—one moment I'm getting up sweating after another dream, and the next I'm standing backstage with Isadora and Acanthus before their interviews. Isadora is in a yellow and blue dress that's soft and whispy like a fairy—she's trying to make an impression, it's the only hope she has of any sponsors. Acanthus is to come across as her protector, his shirt a soft blue with his suit typical of the finer classes of our district.

Blight tells them things to remember, how to stay calm, and a bunch of other advice. Isadora nods and smiles, still perfectly at ease as if she's done this all her life, but Acanthus has grown quiet and almost a little morose. I can see him starting to sweat, and so can Isadora. She reaches out her tiny hand towards his, "Hold my hand so I don't get scared?"

He smiles at her, gripping her hand tightly. "Sure, Is."

And then they're going on stage with the rest to thunderous applause.

I make my way to my seat beside Haemon, and settle in beside him as Anaon is called up. She doesn't play her angle, she lives it—it's chilling and conniving. She's obviously brilliant and vicious, the masses love it. Dexter is likeable, even charismatic. He has the audience eating out of his hand by the time his interview ends.

Xyla dwarfs Caesar severely, her dress shows more muscle than anything. Her eyes are a cold grey steel, and her words cut like knives. Everything she says is curt and cutting with a vicious edge to it. Caesar looks even more horrified when Ace shows up. Ace grunts out answers as if he's incapable of speaking more than that, and seems thoroughly bored. People are so impressed with both of them that the sound of applause is deafening.

The next few districts, I don't particularly pay attention to. Nothing they say or do even remotely sticks. Isadora comes on to a stage, and she's happy and bright. I don't understand how she can play so well this part of hope and triumph, she's at ease as if she has the secret of the world up her sleeve. Caesar talks to her and asks her plans, but she smiles in her child-like innocence everytime he ask her what she plans on doing.

"Do you think you can win?" He asks her, leaning so close to the riveting child. Her eyes are bright, no fear or uncertainity is reflected in their depths.

She pushes back her hair gently, "I'm going to be fine Caesar, I promise." She presses her hand into his as the buzzer sounds, "I'm going to win the only way I know how."

He smiles and he doubts her, the crumbling delusion that she's holding on to but somehow wishes she could really obtain. "I hope you can, Isadora. I hope you can."

Acanthus interview is painful at best. They keep mentioning how difficult it must be for him to be here knowing that his sister was in an arena like this not long ago. All kinds of comments about "the odds not being in their favour". Caesar tries to lighten the mood, tries to ask why he could be different than Eve-why he could survive?

But Acanthus gives them nothing, not a word or answer of what they are looking for. Instead, he says, "I will do exactly what Eve did and if the outcome is different...it is. I am proud of her."

Uncerimoniously, I get up and push my way back stage-declining to listen to the rest of the interviews though they'd probably be beneficial. What kind of idiot of a tribute is Acanthus?

Isadora is fighting for her life, she's making a play for it-she's winning faith and sponsors. She's calm and cool. People are eating out of her hand, she's making an impression...but Acanthus is drowining in self-pity, in the shadow of a sister who could raise him up and get him the help he needed. Like it or not, the dead can help.

When he comes off the stage along with the rest, I can see he's already ready to meet me. His back his bowed, and his eyes furrowed as he practically growls at me as we shout obscenities.

"What the hell are you doing? Do you want to die?"

"I won't use her memory to sell myself!"

"Face it kid, they don't' care about you! You're meat to them! Your tragic little sister story is what's going to get you sponsors not your moroseness and stupidity!"

The Peacekeepers quiet us and separate us on the way back to the Training Center, but I still fume...waiting to meet back up with him. I haven't had enough to say to him about it. He needs to get it in his thick head. When I exit the elevator, it's Isadora who squeezes my hand. "Don't worry, he's going to be fine," I want to wipe that stupid smirk off of her face.

"Listen, Is, just because you say that crap doesn't mean it's real. You're both fixing to get killed tomorrow morning... and I have the chance to maybe save one of you."

She shrugs her shoulders, as Acanthus and I square off like boxers again. We're screaming and I'm pretty sure there's glasses flying along with curses. He's called me everything that could leave his mouth from Capitol sell-out, slut, to Capitol symphathizer.

Once again, the words are on my lips like poison, ready to tell him _I killed your sister. And I'm glad she'd dead because Finnick has Annie. Now you can go screw yourself._ But the words don't come to the surface, even though they're boiling out and so painful that I want them to spill.

It's cold, it's bitter like frost when I say it. "I'm glad she's dead so she doesn't have to watch her brother be more willing to lay down and die than grow some balls and fight like she did. She'd be ashamed of you."

His face pales, and his fists clench and unclench as we both stand there breathless. For a moment, he looks just like Eve-right after she made her first kill, fierce and determined but disgusted. There's the boy I want, the boy that has to go into that arena to come out. But as soon as it's there it's gone, and he's left the room and me speechless in his wake.

But Isadora, ever there, and ever comforting utters her phrase one last time, "He'll be okay."

I pick up the a decanter and pour myself a glass of pure, white liquid. I take a huge gulp, the burning and scalding warming my insides. It both stifles and pushes my anger higher. "I'll have it carved on your coffins. Real nice epitaph for you two, 'It's the Hunger Games, we're all going to being okay.' You won't ever use the word okay again if you survive this," I push past her to my room, with the bottle in one hand and the glass the another.

…

There are some mornings that come quick whether you like it or not, and some that linger forever. On rare occassions, both happen at once like this past night.

After I finished my glass, I poured another. The temptation of it there in front of me, tempting me into oblivion like Haymitch. With a few more glasses, I could forget about this all. I could forget about Eve. I could forget about Acanthus...I could forget about the Hunger Games. But I never have liked to run, I'd rather fight. So all night, I sit and stare at the full glass and almost full bottle, making myself deny the out-making myself stay and fight even if Acanthus wouldn't.

The shadows come and go, half sleep and nightmares come. Eve whispers to me and Triton's head rolls at my feet. This is always what it's like the night before a games, and this one is no different.

I pour myself a cup of coffee as I head out. The tributes are in the hall, walking toward the elevators-and for a moment, I almost decide not to speak with them. But my mouth opens before I can stop myself, "Good luck. Both of you."

Their eyes come up to meet mine, Isadora's sweet and sincere while Acanthus looks at me with hatred. This is my last chance. This is my last chance to tell him about what I did to his sister, to make him react-to make him stay angry enough to come back and kill me. But when I look in his eyes, I know that I won't. It's a truth he doesn't need to know, one that may not make the difference in the end. When I found out that he was coming here, I vowed to protect him for Eve no matter what. I'll protect him even from the truth.

"I mean it," I say. I lean forward and press my lips down on Isadora's forehead, her arms wrapping around me tightly. She's about the same size Greta would be...The thoughts bring tears to my eyes. I pull Acanthus to me unwillingly and press my lips to his cheek, "Good luck."

"Thank you," he whispers back as he looks at me in confusion. Then they're gone.

…

The atmosphere in the Mentor's Control Room is different. There's a thick undercurrent in the room. Each body is taut with nerves and muscles. As I look around, I notice the mentors are not the usual crop filled with one half careers and one half lushes. Most of the members here are still remembered, still favoured in the Capitol. They can feel the blood in the water, even those that don't know our plans to start a Rebellion-they can feel that something is happening, and the Capitol is the best place to have a pulse on it. They've lived by hunting and fighting and their senses are honed to recognize it.

I move through the room of piranhas toward my station. I see Belvedere's eyes meet mine for a long second before looking away, almost causing me to run into a woman much smaller than I expected. Her hair dark, her lips pulled back into a smile. Each tooth raised to a point and capped with gold. How did that old story go? "All the better to eat you with?" I knew without a doubt this was Enobaria.

She's not as muscled as I thought, or maybe it's just that she's so much smaller than the muscle bound thugs from her district this year that makes me think that. There's a spark of intelligence in her eyes that shows she's no fool. Her eyes carefully measure me, and I give her glare for glare. I can see she doesn't like me, and I don't like her-maybe we're too alike or maybe it's too different? Who knows or cares? But before anything happens, she whispers like it's a secret between us. "Well save this for another time, Seven."

"Whenever you're ready, Two."

She brushes past my shoulder, knocking me back almost tempting me to follow her. If it was any other day but today, I would-but nothing will keep me from my selfmade promise to Acanthus.

I sit down at the Control Panel, and check out all the screens. The funds are manageable but that's it. I can hear the whispers in other sections where they're talking about plans, about what to buy if their tribute makes it that far. They talk about what the arena might be like-tiny whispers like the rustling of paper. None of their words catch though, there's something...something prickling at the edge of my mind that bothers me.

It's like running after a shred of paper on a windy day, chasing it hoping to catch it and discover what you've missed so that you can put the puzzle together. Somehow though, the wind blows it further and further away until the feeling of loss is even more prevalent. I push my hair back and drink the coffee down. I'm missing something...something so simple. Little pieces of memory catch in my mind.

Isadora and Acanthus talking on the train, hearing them as I passed their room.

_"What are you going to do if you win?" Acanthus voice is polite as he asks her. _

_"I'm going to be happy. No one will ever bother me again." _

_"Are you that sure?" _

_Isadora looks at him, something struggling in her eyes. "Don't you think you'll win?" _

_"Not as much as you do. How are you so sure?" _

_She pauses, her eyes cast down looking at her hands. "There are some things you are certain of. And I'm certain of this." _

The memory catches on fire, provokes another.

A_canthus stands on the rooftop, "How can I be sure of anything?" He asks me. _

_"You can't. You can't ever be sure, unless you hold the cards," I pause. "Is there something you want to tell me Acanthus? I can help you." _

_"No," he whispers. "It's nothing." _

I didn't believe him then, and I don't believe him now.

I fill up my coffee cup again, barely hearing the announcement that the tributes have reached their destination and will soon be entering the launch area.

My mind is racing, pieces are falling together faster than I can comprehend. Everything speeds up so fast that I feel dizzy and clutch the table before stumbling blindly back to my chair. Then everything just...slows...down.

The tubes are rising, and the knowledge has come.

_No. _

I stand up as they tubes launch them into the arena. That fifteen seconds feels like eternity.

_Don't. No! _

My heart thuds in my chest as the arena is revealed-I can do nothing.

Everywhere the camera shows there is nothing but mounds and mounds of snow. Mountains loom in every direction, and everywhere is peppered sparsely with trees.

But none of that is what I want to see. None of that matters now that I know.

The camera focuses on each of the faces now as the countdown begins. And I can't stop it, maybe I wouldn't. How had I been so blind to it all along?

Acanthus is scared as he looks across the arena to find Isadora. He waves at her, willing her to see him.

_No... _

She waves back, his eyes are on her. She's smiling. She's peaceful. She's planned this all along. She knew the only way to win was cheat.

My cup slips from my hand and shatters into a thousand pieces, as Isadora shuts her eyes and steps deliberately off the plate. This how she planned to win all along... The bomb goes off raining pieces of her body down on the tributes next to her, and rocking the entire arena.


	92. Her Absence

**OMG OMG THERE'S ANOTHER UPDATE! THE SKY IS FALLING THE SKY IS FALLING! I finished this sooner with all the Catching Fire news going on.**

**Things are still tense, but things are better in some ways. My computer is fixed-I just have to pick it up (which could take a week since...I'm like two hours away from the Best Buy it's at).**

**But anyways, I decided to give you a Friday treat rather than a Saturday one. I'll try to update again earlyish next week (Tuesday maybe?)**

**Remember I leave for vacay the 25-2nd. I'm not sure if there will be any chapters during then or not. I may have my trusty friend (if I have a pre-written chapter) upload one while I"m gone. I'm trying not to get ahead of myself since I'm feeling better. So let's just feel this week out and see.**__

**_The only way to win is cheat_**  
><strong><em>And lay it down before I'm beat<em>**  
><strong><em>And to another give my seat<em>**  
><strong><em>For that's the only painless feat<em>**

**_Suicide is Painless, Theme song to M*A*S*H_**

In the Control Room, and I imagine all across Panem, there is silence for a moment. I can feel my ears ringing from the sound of the explosion. Tributes rock on their plates like an earthquake has occurred, and a light rain falls down that colours those closest to where she had been with light pink drizzle. If you didn't know it-what it was—that it was her, you could almost imagine they'd been drizzled with some kind of strawberry sauce and that the small flecks were pulps of the fruit rather than her flesh.

I can hear the sound of someone retching in the background, like white noise with what's going on. She was there a moment ago, a living and breathing human being that didn't want to play their games. All along, she'd said she'd be okay—that Acanthus would be okay. And the understanding of her words hasn't stopped coming. Let him plan to help her, let him plan to have to be strong to take care of her—she was never going to meet up with him in the arena. She was never going to be a burden for him or anyone. There was no one left she loved—no one to hurt her with. She didn't have to play their game.

She won.

I can feel it already reverberating through the Districts. The tension that is so thick on this day has been completely obliterated. The shock of what she has done has rocked the whole world and nothing will ever be the same because of it. It's just a small spark...but maybe this Rebellion needed her, needed a martyr to say 'I'm tired of your games. I'll live and die on my own terms.'

I knew it was coming, I felt it building like it was coming from inside of me—even though I knew it'd come from his lips. The sounds of Acanthus screams fill the silence after the explosion just as the gong goes off.

Acanthus runs fast, faster than I've ever seen him move. His feet are light on the snow—barely leaving prints as he runs. The white fabric of his outfit, helps him to blend in down to his white boots. His hood is thrown back, his dark hair flecked with snow as he reaches the Cornucopia.

The camera zooms in and there's something wild in his eyes, something so vital and alive that it's terrifying. But Acanthus ignores them all, and grabs an axe and a pack. He pulls it onto his shoulder and slices out with his axe, taking first blood from a boy from nine who stumbles away from him in alarm. The white snow is coloured with red like a vial of dye has been dropped on the ground.

The girl from six goes down a few feet away, her body splattered with frozen little splashes of Isadora. Her eyes looking skyward as her heart slows down, we can hear the heart rate monitor dropping in the stillness of the room. They focus on her face, the icy blue eyes and the scarlet hair that blends into the blood that pools around her like some spilled canvas. The blue lips cough and turn scarlet as she lays there. A snowflake falls and lands on her eye, and she blinks at the sting of it feebly.

Acanthus is there quickly, watching to see if anyone is paying attention. But no one pays attention to the dying girl in an arena where everyone will soon be dying. His lips move softly as he strips off her coat. She doesn't protest or struggle, she just looks at him with those barely focusing eyes and her lips try to form a word as he takes her boots and her socks.

The words bubble out as his face comes up to linger over hers a moment, the bloody froth helping to ease the words out, "So-rry..." The wheeze catches and she struggles for a moment, and her eyes roll back in pain. His hand moves swiftly, deftly from his belt as she looks up at him in torment and fear. But the look eases, and fades as he plunges the small blade into her chest, pulls it out and disappears with her things.

My camera alone follows him, as the bloodbath continues. He runs swiftly for the trees and as soon as he reaches a few feet in, he runs sharply to the left. Using his hands to swing him between the tightly knit trees, his footprints still barely there. He rushes along that way for a few minutes before turning sharply into the forest, away from the noises of battle.

The axe is in his hand, the knife he stops to clean in the snow before he tucks it in his belt again before taking off running. He puts space between them, distance that is important while he still has strength. Nothing he does captivates the audience for now.

We assess funds, watch his stats, and just watch him since he is all that we have left. There is nothing left of Isadora to send home. She made her bid, she played how she wanted—and she gave Acanthus a chance at life. She knew, just like I did, that his helping her would get him killed. Maybe that's the only reason she did it...maybe she had planned it all along. But she had saved him from being a casualty, she gave him a chance.

The cannons go off and he pauses to listen to the sound of them. Each hollow sound, the reminder of a heart gone silent. Nine hollow sounds, only fifteen left. I expect him to run, to put more distance between him and the others, but he begins to walk a few paces before doubling over.

_No._

I hear the gut-wrenching sob coming from him, and my hands reach to the screen. Not now Acanthus, you can't grieve now. You can't be weak. But he closes his eyes and bites hard into his gloved hands until the tears flow in icy little rivers down to the ground. He's cried out in a few minutes, and when he stands he looks a little shaky and much more like a boy than I've ever seen him.

He's reminding us all, he's still just fifteen. He checks his pack for a few meager rations, a few bandages, and a water bottle (empty).

Wasting no time, he moved over to a high bank of snow and smushed the contents into the bottle. The paths of tears still on his face, idly brushing them away like a child who is past the point of crying. But there is no defeat in his eyes, there is resolve as he takes a handful of snow and sucks on it. He repeats the process over and over again, his lips turn rosy pink from the tinge of the ice. He takes the snow and cleans his knife again, and he cleans the bloody spot from the coat before piling more snow on top to hide the tinge of reddened melted snow.

Pulling himself up, he checks the moss growing on the trees and turns at at left angle before moving at a fast but light clip. You can see the way he moves that he's used to this, these woods were made for someone like him. He makes no other sound for the rest of the day.

…

My shift has been over for three hours, and Acanthus still moves on at that flat clip as if he's tracking something—has his eyes set on something. It's Nicholas finally that forces me to leave, "Take a break. Raven has been calling for you."

Raven.

The word feels light and cool on my lips, and something in my body feels heavy as his name echoes again. I can't force it out, his name or his presence now that he's entered my mind again. I give in, and move from the room—stiff with sitting for so long, my shoulders heavy with all that's gone on today. But as soon as my feet step out of the room, I'm grabbed.

For a moment, my survival instinct kicks in and throw out a fist. But as his body crashes toward me, a different instinct takes over, this one more primal. I melt into him. The hardness of his body calls to me, excites me and makes my dead heart beat again. My blood runs, and the fevour of life comes back where it was only a shadow a few minutes ago.

Sometimes, I forget I'm still alive.

His lips crush and bruise, but not as much as mine. His fingers rake over me as if he owns me, and he does. But I push my fingers forcefully between the buttons of his shirt, because we both know that with all the owning going on—I'm the one that really owns him. The slave that owns her master, it's something he's said time and again.

Raven breaks away, his breath coming panting as he leans close and runs his fingers through my long hair. "I was worried about you," he whispers. His voice is like silk sheets moving across bare skin. It's hard to keep my mind out of those sheets...

"Why?" My lips are being pulled to him like a magnet.

"Your tribute just blew herself to hell," I push away from him. He's said too much. That fine line of crossing over into sex and mindlessness and he just had to blow it.

He grips my arm and yanks me back to him, "I talk too much."

The ice that's crept back into my veins threatens to melt, "You always have."

"Then let's just not say anything."

"Let's," I counter."

…

The house is empty when we arrive. His coat falls to the stares, my shoes go over the banisters, an earring falls to a table while greedy hands search for familiar places. My fingers pop open the buttons on his shirt before he scoops me up and brings me quickly to the bed.

We kneel there together clad only in our underclothes, my chest is heaving—prepared for the battle, the hot and heavy languishing feeling of making love to him. But he surprises me. He takes my hands gently, something I'm so unused to in the way that this usually goes down. His lips are light, like brush strokes on my fingertips. Something flutters in my stomach, and something warm aches down so deep inside of me that I don't think it can ever be filled. An ache so deep, so wanting that I've never felt it before.

His lips trace lightly and slowly up my wrist as if the wind, it reminds me of being chilled on hot days when working in the forests. Each kiss lingers and yet is barely there, making my heart thrum. Something inside of me builds, and builds until I can't stop it. It's not the orgasm that I wanted to come—maybe that'll still come later—it's the tears that fall beyond my control.

I can feel the first one start, and it is for _her_. For Isadora. The next one falls, and it even has a name...but all the names are hers, of things she will never do. She has won, and I'm left behind to lose. The tears fall faster, but I don't move my hands from his steady path of kisses. His lips move up slowly to my elbow where he whispers, to my shoulder then to my neck.

Then he looks me in the eyes as if he's seeing me for the first time again. He doesn't wipe away my tears, and I see that there are tears in his eyes too as he kisses the rivers that run down my face unheeded.

His lips are near mine, and I can smell the salt in his tears. "Why?" I ask him gently. Why are you crying, I mean.

"You know why," his lips touch mine gently like a first shy kiss.

I do know why. Because he loves me, "Because your stupid," I say as my lips touch his again sofly.

"I'll always be stupid when it comes to you," his lips touch mine and our tears mingle like our tongues, and though it's slow like we are ageless and have all the time in the world, we do break apart.

I can taste his tears in my mouth, I have drank them in. I touch his cheeks gently and trace my thumb down his chin as he leans me back slowly like a dip in a dance. "Maybe, I wanna be stupid too."

…

I pull my hair into a low ponytail at the nape of my neck as he kisses me. His fingers play with the black tank top I wear. I kiss him quickly with lowered lashes before pulling on the black pants and boots. My make-up is simple, black tones to hide the tears I've shed—black tones to mourn her maybe.

I pick up my bag, and it's his words that strike me as I leave. "Who will say them for her?"

I pause and half turn my head toward him, "Say what?"

"The words of your District," he says it softly like a secret.

"So you know of that," I laugh.

"Always," he says as I feel him come up behind me. "Who will say it for her? Who will make sure she's given the last rite of burial in your district? I know it's important, body or not."

I can't help but smirk, "The same person as always." We both know that's me.

It doesn't make it easy in her room though as I stop there before going back to Control. Her room is neat and proper, not a single thing out of place. But there on the edge of the table folded is a note. The words leap out at me—my name.

I flip it open, see the careful writing that shall always be frozen in this child-like grace.

"_I know you'll forgive me, but I'm still sorry._

_I hope...well, hopes aren't to be written in words only carried in hearts._

_I know you carry it too."_

Acanthus. We both hope that he will come home, against all odds—too afraid to even say it. Carefully, she must have weighed out the odds of what she did—would her act of rebellion get him killed? Or was she simply a depressed and suicidal girl? Just young and foolish...a death wish.

A small piece of wood falls to the floor, an oval carving with names etched round in a circle. Isadora's name is there, and so are four others. This was the family she once had, the last reminder—the last survivor of them. My finger moves over the woodgrain gently, and the words come to mind without my bidding. It isn't until I reach the elevator to head back down to Control that I realize, I've been humming them out loud.


	93. One Way Out

**I'm back! We had a lovely time in Disney-things have been hectic sense. I apologize for the long wait, but things have slowed down and my dormant muse has revived splendidly since the heat has died down. Next update should be Tuesday and I should be on a regular scheduled update from now on. Usually three updates a week as usual, sometimes might be cut down to two. **

**Sorry for the wait, please forgive me! And I'll be writing back to everyone very soon. I wanted to get this out to you guys first before I worried about that. Much love! **

_**The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over. **_  
><em><strong> Hunter S. Thompson <strong>_

The doors open to Control and all the voices halt and a few look at me in shock, some in pity. My eyes move around them until one by one they glance away, as if ashamed or past me appearing again but one.

Enobaria Valeri.

Her dark brown eyes look over me, her hair is pulled tight at the back of her neck as she stands there staring without blinking or looking away. "What are you looking at?" I spit at her, sneering at the clinical and cold way she sums me up.

Her eyes goes up and down me once, her lips parting to reveal those capped and pointed teeth. "I'd say nothing much," her lips twist back in a snarl as my punch catches her in the throat.

For a moment, she gasps, unable to catch her breath before she hits me hard in the stomach with her knee. I feel myself falling backwards on the floor, and she dives at me with a coffee cup in hand. I feel it shatter beside my head, feel the shards embedded into my skin along with the luke-warm spray of caffeine mingled with blood.

My head aches, but the lust for her blood is heavy now. I can feel it clawing inside of me like a demon trying to escape. I punch her in the throat again. I knee her in the crotch and sling her by her hair until I'm over her.

She's fighting back hard. I can feel the streams of blood down my arm. I can feel the swelling on my face, but my arms are longer and even though I'm not heavy I'm angered enough to hold her. My fingers float for a weapon, and there's something solid that my hand catches on—some kind of thick and heavy paperweight, almost indestructible.

The weight of it feels right in my hand, the power of it—the urgency to use it. I bring my arm down hard at her temple—

Strong arms surround me. Though I curse and fight, the arms are stronger. They pull me away, make me shriek in fury at my kill being taken away from me.

His words cut through the tunnel vision, "You would have killed her!" Finnick is barely containing the whisper.

My hands go down to my arm, the thick blood trails leaving spiral patterns. In my hand lies the weapon, thick and heavy. And it feels _so_ right. It feels so perfect. I imagine the natural course of action—of what I wanted. I can see the paperweight going down not once or twice, but so many times that my arm gets heavy and the blood spatters up into my mouth.

That easy really. That easy for a Victor to kill someone, that easy to take that next step without thinking. But if I had thought about it, really thought about it would that make a difference?

I squeeze the paperweight between my hands, "Yes," I say it gently. "I would have killed her and I wouldn't have thought twice about it again." My eyes look into his, expecting to see him admonish or scold me for being so callous, so inhumane.

But instead I see something fall in his face, "It is so much easier now isn't it?"

"Easier every time," I echo as I toss the weight into the air. I look across the room at Enobaria who's smoothing her clothes and ignoring her wounds. "Easier every time…"

"This isn't over," Finnick says tiredly.

"Not until one of us," my eyes remain on Enobaria, "gets a little bit easier at this."

…

The night sky is cloudless and clear as Acanthus settles in. The snow drifts are high. He takes his time and instead of taking to the trees like it's expected he'll do—he tunnels into the high patches of snow until he makes himself blend into the high drifts at the base of some trees. It's smart really, using the packing for insulation and the snow for colour.

I don't know how he learned to make it with so little room and look so natural. Maybe he picked it up in training, or maybe back home when it snowed he did it with Eve.

He sucks on the snow, letting it melt in his mouth before breaking out a small pack of jerky. He considers it for a moment. It could last much longer but it's cold and he needs his strength.

My fingers move over the buttons, and white parachute floats down with bread still fresh from the oven. It's hearty bread, not as tasteful as some—but the kind that helps us make it through the winter with its nutrients—it's the kind we cooked under the grease of whatever food we had to give it extra flavour. As a gift, it was expensive—maybe not even deserved. But after today, he needed to have a reminder of home and warmth before it got harder. He needed to see that despite my callous nature, I am on his side.

I see his gloved hands reach up for it and he brings it to his face, inhaling the scent of home. I wonder if he's ever had fresh bread in the homes before? Does he ever remember his parents making this bread or has he only smelled it as he went by houses on the way to the Community Home where his food would be stale if he got any?

I watch as he takes off his gloves and warms his hand with the loaf. Slowly, he eats it without looking up. His eyes are closed and he's listening intently to what's going on around him. It doesn't take long before the bread is gone though, and like a tired child he pulls on his gloves and tucks himself in for the night.

…

Even though it's been dark for six hours, and he's been asleep for four it's only just now midnight—time for the recaps. The Capitol seal floats in the sky and details all of the people who've died the second day. They've gone from fifteen to eleven today. The boy from three, the girl from five, the boy from eight, and the girl from twelve—all gone. All of them hunted down and killed by the pack that is running six strong and rampant.

I see Acanthus watching, the line of his jaw set hard as he takes it in. He's killed already, out of mercy, and he seems untroubled by it. But soon, if he wants to live, he'll have to fight someone who is trying just as desperately to stay alive. What will he do then?

It surprises me when I watch him sink further into his little mountain of snow pushing it so that it falls over his face. I lean forward to see what he's doing and then I hear it…The sound of crunching snow under feet. There's a girl from four—evidently, she's separated from the group.

I glance from screen to screen until I find the career camp with it's warming fire. They talk about the girl—Adanis, who's taking the first patrol. Her district partner looks uneasy to be left alone with them. They couldn't be that far away from Acanthus—if they found him, it would be all but over.

My eyes rove back to his screen and hers. She gets closer and closer to the area she's in, until she passes him. The spear leaning easily on her arm as her teeth chatter. She's barely past him, merely inches when I see him move.

Acanthus is up so quickly it's shocking. She's stopped to listen for the sound, but it's too late already. His hands grab her from behind, one goes up and over her mouth as the other hand draws across her throat, leaving a gaping gash like a Cheshire grin. Blood spills and her mouth froths with bubbles as she tries to scream. He grabs at her spear, and he's just searching her pockets when her cannon booms loudly.

The careers are to their feet in no time, quiet and attentive. Acanthus stands there head up like a deer, waiting and watching to see what's coming. He moves off slowly and low to the ground for a few feet as the careers start to run to where they determined the sound to come from.

The cameras follow them—and every one of them is running. District four stops by his fallen district partner for a moment, a hazy unfocused sad look settles on his face before one of the careers screams something at him that motivates him to start running again. Acanthus runs through the forest, dodging trees easily as he stretches his long limbs out, barely leaving in footprints in the show.

Before long though, the trees get sparser and the panting pack is catching up with him. He breaks through the last of the trees and barely stops himself from falling over a ledge. He leans over the edge, looking for an escape and I can see his eyes go wide and apprehensive.

Slowly, he turns to face the pack.

A thick sheen of sweat covers each of their bodies as they hulk around with their weapons. Anaon's hair is the colour of blood—they must have done something to make it look that way. The scythe in her hand is stained with blood and her eyes are wild.

"No where to go now, little boy," she gives him a simpering smile. "Might as well just throw down your weapons and surrender."

I hold my breath as Acanthus takes a step back. He's near the edge, the rocks crumbling beneath his feet. "No," he says it loudly and clearly as his hand grips the axe tighter.

"What are you going to do about?" Ace lurches forward with Xyla mirroring his actions. Dexter waits slightly behind all of them, more wary and less bloodthirsty. The boy from four stands there, looking lost—his face strewn with tears.

Acanthus takes a deep breath. "I won't play your game."

My breath catches at his words. The whole room is silent as his words ring out, tasting too close to treason.

His next words quell that fear, "I'm not going to let you tear me apart like animals and just take it."

"There's nothing you can do, it's pointless to resist," Anaon sneers.

"You're wrong," his hand grips the axe tighter and I can see the look on his face transform—it transforms and calms. His hand moves swiftly down to his side, gripping the thin extra dagger he picked up. He hurls it toward the pack, and without another word steps backwards embracing the fall.


	94. Freezing Point

_****_**Sorry it took a bit, but here you go. I was having a little issue with the last part of the chapter. And this was planned from the beginning, plot/storywise nothing has been changed. So enjoy and review! Next update SHOULD be Tuesday!**

_**"She looked up. "What I can't figure out is why the good things always end."**_  
><em><strong>"Everything ends."<strong>_  
><em><strong>"Not some things. Not the bad things. They never go away."<strong>_  
><em><strong>"Yes, they do. If you let them, they go away. Not as fast as we'd like sometimes, but they end too. What doesn't end is the way we feel about each other. Even when you're all grown up and somewhere else, you can remember what a good time we had together. Even when you're in the middle of bad things and they never seem to be changing, you can remember me. And I'll remember you."<strong>_  
><em><strong>― Torey Hayden, One Child  Banners of Silk / The Gentle Jungle / Reflex**_

All the muscles in my body go rigid as I watch him fall backwards embracing his death. I want to turn away from him before the cannon booms, escape remembering him as a bloody mess on the ground below but I can't. I have done everything I can to save him, tried to coach him—and now, here he is about to die anyways. He's going to be taken from me and I'll never be absolved of the guilt I feel. But what's more is that I actually kind of liked him, I wanted him to win because of himself and not Eve.

And it doesn't matter.

I feel Nicholas' hand on my arm, but I don't respond. He falls for what seems a long time in my mind, but it's only seconds. His body impacts hard, huge puffs of snow going up. I wait for the blood—but there's a loud cracking sound as his body touches. I think it's the sound of his body breaking, until I realize the ground—no, the _ice_ is shattering beneath him.

I don't move in my chair as the screen starts to recap it. I search through other screens in front of me trying to find one that shows him. I see his body beneath the surface, so far down and he's alive!

Alive!

But then comes the knowledge that I forgot in my elation—Eve couldn't swim which means…It feels like Snow himself is gripping my heart and squeezing out what little humanity I feel I have left. I'm going to have to watch him drown.

Acanthus struggles beneath the surface, his shoulder is at an odd angle as he grimaces in pain. His legs kick out strong, and I see him propel his one good arm forward. He makes swift, steady moves toward the surface hole.

He can swim?

I lean back in my chair as I watch him swim to the surface of the hole with steady strokes. When had he learned to swim? After Eve died? Because she died?

His face breaks the surface, and he breathes in sharply. It must feel like he's inhaling ice. He struggles using his good arm to provide leverage from the hole. Struggling, he gets his legs out and onto the ice. His whole body is shaking with cold or exertion or both but he doesn't stop.

Acanthus struggles to his feet, the axe clutched to his chest still with hurt arm. He pushes himself across the ice, as the careers shout down at them. He looks up at them clearly and lifts his good hand with only his middle finger up.

I can't help but smile as he moves slowly across the ice, but even with his thin and wiry frame the ice makes cracking sounds. There's no way the careers will ever be able to follow him across it, not with their bulky frames.

He keeps moving, keeping warm by exertion but he still shivers. His lips are turning blue by the time he reaches the side where the ice ends. Up a few feet is a cave, with a dense forest of trees not far behind. He moves into the cave with his axe ready to see if it's safe before he heads out. Carefully, he chops several limbs off the trees and drags them back into the cave.

His teeth are chattering as he stacks a few of the pieces in the corner, and uses the rest to start a fire. It takes some doing, but finally it catches and slowly starts to burn. He sits down, removing his boots.

I turn away from him for the moment and consult the boards—Xyla from District 2 caught his knife in her forehead, it was her cannon that sounded. I glance back at one my display screens and start scrolling through. That's when I notice that there's more money trickling in. If there's one thing the Capitol loves, it's a fighter and he's fighting hard.

I zip through the lists and select an insulated sleeping bag, and a medicine that warms you up and increases circulation to prevent frostbite. Even with all the funds I've got from Raven's friends, it dips his account dangerously low.

The parachutes float down and he gets up slowly to get them. He drags the packages in and sits down again. He looks up in the cave, and focuses knowing a camera will find him. "Thanks Jo," the corners of his mouth twitch but I can see he's tired and cold.

He lifts the bottle to his mouth and takes a few long swallows like directed. It's amazing to watch the colour come back to his face and his teeth stop chattering. As he warms up, he takes off his clothes—uncaring of what the cameras see. Carefully, he lays the clothes out to dry before slipping into his sleeping bag.

I watch as he bites his lip, and takes his bad arm in his other hand. He grips the bicep tightly and jerks hard. There's a grating sound that ends in a pop and I watch as he struggles not to pass out, but the important thing is he has shoulder back in place. He's obviously had to do this before.

Slipping the rest of the way in the bag with his axe cradled to him, I watch as Acanthus falls asleep—safe for now.

I lean back in my chair watching him for a moment. Hours ago, I thought he was lost forever and now I'm realizing how much of a chance he has to get out of the arena. There's not much time left now, we're down to nine. Nine.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and I turn to see that it's Haemon standing there. For a long moment, I look at him as he eases himself down in the chair. The way he looked at Isadora on the train, they way he took her death… "You knew, didn't you?" My voice is low, confused even as I say it.

"I knew," he says in his measured voice.

I grit my teeth together, "Why didn't you stop her? Why didn't you tell me? I had a right to know."

"You did," he warms his hand on a cup of coffee. "When you've been around as long as I have, you see the signs. She didn't want to live—she wanted him to live. Who am I tell her she can't? She didn't want to live through it, it was easier this way for her—she weighs on no one's conscience."

"She weighs on mine."

"She would anyways," he sips the coffee. "But Acanthus, he wants to live. Forgive an old man his secrets, and let's focus on the ones we can save."

I pull the cup of coffee from him and take a gulp, scalding the inside of my mouth. "Who's left then?"

Nicholas turns his chair toward me, a notepad in his hands. Haemon takes back his cup from me, and I notice how gnarled and twisted his hands are. I wonder how long it's been since he gripped an axe?

"There's Mana from three. There's nothing to worry about there. She's smart enough, but she's already wounded. She won't make it any longer. Roland from four is handy with a spear, but I don't know if he'll recover from the loss of his partner. He knew her back home. Ace is deadly, huge and lethal. He's pissed now that Xyla is gone. They thought they were invincible. If my judgment is right, the pack will turn on each other soon. He wants the element of surprise since one has the better number. He might try to ally with Roland, and Roland will accept out of fear if he offers. If he says no, he's as good as dead.

"But back to Ace. He's not only strong, his weapon is far reaching. He's also quick for someone so big. His main disadvantage is his sight and weight, he's too cumbersome in a small area. That's Acanthus best chance with him, to get him in a corner.

"Anaon is fierce, but small. She's speedy-almost unearthly so. She's quick thinking, she's small. Her disadvantage is that she doesn't have a lot of weight even though she does well in endurance based strength. He'd have to wear her down or be quicker or stronger than her.

"Dexter isn't that great. Typical tribute from 1. He's average, the only thing that sets him apart is that he thinks ahead instead of in the moment. So you always have to watch with his next move.

"Syntha though…She's…I don't know. I wish we knew what she showed the Gamemakers. It had to be good to get her that solid score. I'm thinking it's involving some kind of strength. She's a wildcard really, but I've noticed she traps and uses snares.

"The girl from ten, Carol has lived by hiding. The main problem will be finding her. It'd be difficult for Acanthus to kill her, she's small with big eyes. I hope it doesn't come to that.

"Scythe though has two solid kills to his name. He's lethal with any kind of blade. He's measured. He seems to have been taught by someone, he knows actual moves and parries. It'll be tough to wear him down, but the best thing to do with him is do the unexpected."

He flips the notebook shut, "And that's all of them."

"Too bad Acanthus isn't here for this session," I grimace.

"You'll just have to figure out how to tell him then, or help him figure it out."

I'm about to ask him how I'm supposed to do that when I hear it. The sound is heartbreaking to my ears, as Acanthus cries in his sleep for Eve.

She isn't coming, and I'm not going to let him go to her.


	95. Icewater Veins

_****_**Hope you like this one! It's a bit longer than usual. I'm gearing up for NaNo, so trying to get a bit more written ahead. Next update SHOULD be Thursday but it might be late as my parents are coming home that day from vacation and we're going to have ham or turkey or something. **

_**Dreams are today's answers to tomorrow's questions.**_  
><em><strong>Edgar Cayce<strong>_

The sound of the anthem rouses us from our discussion. I still haven't figured out how I'm going to communicate with him in the arena or if it's even possible to. Acanthus stirs in his sleep and makes his way to the front of the cave wrapped in his sleeping bag.

He stares out at the night sky and watches as the face of two tributes fill the sky. Xyla from District two flashes up there and then Adanis from four. Both of them are his kills. I watch his face for some kind of breaking, some sort of emotion or anything, but he stares at the sky impassively with only the corners of his mouth tightening.

As the seal fades away, he goes back into his den. After another sip from his Capitol sent medicine, he slips back into a fitful sleep as I watch over him. It does me no good really to sit here with him, but someone has to. The others ask if I want them to stay, but I wave them off. I need time alone.

The Control room is quiet except for scattered whispers. It's still at the point in the game where the mentors sleep, but soon that too will be gone. Soon, they'll all be sitting here like me watching their tributes breathe in their sleep, wondering how many breaths do they have left?

I watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest, just like I sometimes watch Jacob when he sleeps. Acanthus looks so much like a child right now that I want to reach out and brush the lock of damp hair from his forehead. I have no right though, no right at all to want to comfort him when I caused him his torment.

His lips whisper her name only once. I even think that maybe it's only my imagination that put it there. His face creases and his body jerks in pain. I wonder what he's thinking of? Is he drowning like I often do in my dreams?

_I wake up shivering. My whole body shakes with the intense cold underneath the tree. I look around confusedly. This is my arena…but I won? I won._

_In my small clearing beneath the branches are all my items from the games. My hand is stitched just like before and when I touch it, I feel the raw pain of it. It feels so real, but it can't be real._

_I grab up my axe and move to the edge of the trees. I see her there in the mud where she's gone to escape him—Feora. But no one comes for her, Riley isn't anywhere around though I wait and wait. _

_Finally, I move toward her and I lift her head. But it's not Feora, it's Eve. I roll her over frantically, "What are you doing here?"_

_There's blood on her lips, "Acanthus. I'm here for Acanthus."_

"_You can't have him. He's not yours anymore. He's dead! Leave us both the hell alone!" I shout it at her as loudly as I can. "Don't come back to me again!" I push her away, but she catches my ankle with her hand._

"_Johanna," her voice is soft and pleading. I can't help but look at her. "I'm here for Acanthus." She says it easily._

"_He's not going to die, so you can't have him." Maybe she'll get it through that thick dead skull of hers._

"_No," she whispers. "I'm here for him. To help him," she makes a choking sound._

"_You can't help him, your dead."_

"_Your not," she says._

I wake up in a cold sweat with my face pressed onto a keyboard that's making odd beeping sounds at me. I pull away, feeling the imprint of the keys on my face. I ignore the lines on my face and look up ashamed of myself for falling asleep. I look frantically up to the screen to see that Acanthus is still sleeping.

He's safe, no thanks to me.

I grab a large cup of black coffee and rub at the sleep in my eyes as I walk back to my station. "He wasn't alone Johanna," Haemon smiles.

I glare at him sitting against the back wall, "How long have you been here?"

"An hour before you fell asleep."

"Impossible, I didn't hear you." I glare back at him.

He sips his coffee, "Must I remind you, no one in the arena heard me either."

"Creepy old man," I mutter under my breath as I sit back at the controls. The dream washes over me again as I sit there. Something pulls at the edge of my mind, begging me to grab hold of the loose string and see what unravels. But I can't grasp it, whatever teeters on the edge of my mind is still lost to me.

Acanthus stirs and pulls himself out of his sleeping bag. His shoulder and ribs are marked with dark bruises. He forces himself to move, even though it's stiffly. He checks out his clothes to find them still wet—too wet for travel unless necessary. But he looks hesitant, as if he's unsure whether he should stay or not—or if anyone is here. Outside snowflakes drift down in a lazy peaceful way.

He doesn't know if it's safe, he's wishing I could tell him but I can't.

The idea is so simple that I feel stupid for not thinking of it earlier. I punch a few buttons sending down a warm thermos of hearty soup. He watches as it floats down, and when he brings it in I can hear an audible growl from his stomach.

But the message is clear, stay where you are. Rest. You are safe for now.

He eats the soup slowly at first, before setting it aside to drink some of the warming medicine I sent him. He takes very little of it, trying to stretch it to make it last.

He massages his sore and cold muscles, preparing himself for any occurrence if necessary. He knows he has to stay limber, that the bruised or cracked ribs or even the shoulder could cause his death.

After, he's done he finishes off the rest of his soup. He moves outside, wrapped in his sleeping bag scooping snow into the thermos. Bringing it in, he seals it off and leaves it close to the fire until it melts.

I watch as he doest this over and over, replenishing his body with the water. Again, I feel the ecstasy that he's good, he could win—just like Eve could have. He has a chance if some other mentor hasn't made a deal.

My thoughts are interrupted when Finnick sits down beside me, "Hey you." He smiles as he looks at me, I know that smile.

"Hey, Fin," I glance at him and then back at my screen. That's his I need something smile.

"You mind doing me a favour 'Anna?"

"Depends," I mutter back trying not to be too interested while watching Acanthus.

"I need you to pick up something for me," he pauses.

I turn to him, crossing my arms across my chest. "Why can't you do it?"

"It's my shift."

"Then do it later," I turn away from him. Favour is our code word for missions since we don't ask favours of each other. We only ask for help from each other, favours imply owing and keeping track, and we don't.

"It's for a date tonight," he finishes.

It's urgent then. "Fine, what do you want?" I look at him like I'm annoyed.

"There's a little shop over by Haber's that I ordered this cute little music box from. I lost the receipt though, but I remember the number-M156920871-S6 in gold," he gets up and kisses the top of my head. "He'll be expecting you."

…

I didn't want to leave Acanthus, but Haemon assured me of his safety so I went. The cause was important to me, but I wasn't sure if it was more important than the debt I owed to Eve. But then again, you can't ever pay a dead girl back can you? Not when you're the one who got her killed.

My heels click on the cobblestone side street until I see Haber's. Taking a left, I go by a side alley and there's a little store with a window full of music boxes. The sign reads, "Keystrokes". It's an odd little name.

I open the door into the dusty shop, causing myself to cough a bit. The shop is filled with thousands of boxes, but the haunting refrain of one of them draws me to the front of the store.

I would know that tune anywhere.

I walk forward mesmerized by the sound of it, my fingers touch the wooden box and glide my fingers over the forests of wood on it as the tune of "Bury Me" plays. These carvings are so real that I can almost see the hands that made them—hand that I knew.

A sound startles me and I slam the lid shut as an old man appears behind the counter. "I thought you might like that one Ms. Mason."

My chest heaves up and down and my fingers shake. "How did you get this?" My voice is biting and harsh.

"A young man brought it to me in the dead of night and asked me to get rid of it. That the tribute who had left it behind in their room would get his family in trouble. I was too destroy it. But it was so beautifully crafted, I couldn't. I knew that…there would be a purpose for it someday."

My fingers glide over Liam's woodwork, he was as talented as our grandfather. "How much for it?" I glare at him.

"It was never mine. So take it please," he smiles.

I'm confused by him, why he would give it to me so easily. "Thank you," the words feel strange on my tongue, but they're true.

"And how else can I help you, Ms. Mason?"

"M156920871-S6 in gold," I recite.

"Ah yes, for Mr. Odair's lady friend."

"That's the one," I say as he shuffles around under the counter to bring out an ornate golden box. It's light and delicate, partially see through where the gold makes lines and swirls. He opens it up gently and a soft melody starts playing.

"What is that tune?" I ask as he closes the box and begins to wrap it up.

"Similar to your song my dear, but from District Three. And that's all I can say. Tell Mr. Odair, that I made it just like he asked and I hope that his lady friend does enjoy it."

He takes my brother's box from my hand and wraps it up and places it in a bag as well. "Don't let them fall into the wrong hands, Ms. Mason. Come again."

And just like that the odd little fellow recedes into the backroom.

…

By the time, I find Finnick it's just past sunset. He's straightening his tie, only making it more crooked as he stands there fidgeting. I hand him the delicate packaging, "Here's your gift, Fin."

He looks down at me with those eyes, he knew about my brother's box—that's why he sent me. "Thanks Jo," he kisses the top of my head and I squeeze him tightly for the gift he's given me—something else to remember my brother by.

I tuck the package beneath my feet, and settle in to watch Acanthus.

He's up and moving stiffly. He checks his axe to make sure it's still sharp, and he belts the other knife he's got. He's fully dressed, mostly dried out. He wraps up his sleeping bag and rolls it around his chest and middle to protect his ribs and vital organs, smart boy. Then he zips up his jacket and kicks out his fire and fills his container with snow to melt.

The wind is icy as he sets out across the ice. Each step makes a sound like a crack. Any moment, he could go under. But he moves slowly and deliberately, spreading out his weight to make his impact lighter. But there's at least a mile of pure ice.

Now and then as he makes his way across the treachourous ice, pieces break off or open up and threaten to pull him in. But he's careful, so careful that a thick sheen of sweet breaks out on his forehead. It takes him another hour, but it makes it to the safety of land.

He pauses there a minute to breath, before pushing himself on with the axe ready in his hands. He sets a few snares and waits in the bitter cold. When he check them after two hours, he brings back to fat rabbits. He cleans them and gathers some wood until he stokes a few embers. Throwing the rabbits in, he smokes them with no flames or smoke.

But as he's lost to himself, I see someone else approaching and I try to think of how to warn him. I wish I could shout and save him.

"_You can help him."_

"_I came for him."_

My hands are shaking as I look through the list of items to send. It's expensive and relatively useless, but when it floats down into his hands he looks at it with dawning comphrension.

He turns the toy soldier over in his hand, probably thinking about the last one he received from his sister. It's a little wooden body not even painted, but dangerous with its rifle over it's shoulder. I can see the look in his eye, the way he remembers the gift from his sister—that this isn't just empty or hollow of meaning. This means something, his eyes furrow for a moment trying to discern it and then—He tucks it into his pocket and undoes his jacket and sleeping back. Carefully, but quickly he fills his sleeping bag with snow so that it looks like someone is in there.

He's shivering when he stuff his jacket in to, with just the hood picking out. He stuff ed it with snow too, so that other tribute would mistake the hood for having his head in it. Throwing pine straw on the fire, he let it blaze up as he took the torched rabbits in his bag as he hurried up a tree.

Shaking from the cold, poised on the balls of his feet, he sits there listening to the footsteps grow nearer.


	96. Entrapment

**I have been gone awhile so I'd like to explain what happened in that time. I was sick with sinus infection (that kept going till it became bronchitis). I got scheduled for surgery for carpal tunnel and to fix my ulna nerve on my elb0w (had to cancel because of bronchitis). We've been broke. We've been tired. And I wrote an entire novel in a month—beginning to end. And this won't be the last time you hear about it, because this piece of work…It's staying with me and for the first time in my life I have confidence not just a this might get published thing—but I know it can be published when it's ready. Maybe it's vanity, but I want to think it's confidence and hard work. Never before have I written so much in so little time.**

**Also my thoughts and prayers go out to those in Newtown, Connetticutt and to my friend Rose who's older brother died in a car accident. May God bring you peace that surpasses all understanding.  
><strong>

**Updates should be consistent from now on.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Who can hope to be safe? who sufficiently cautious?<strong>_  
><em><strong>Guard himself as he may, every moment's an ambush.<strong>_  
><em><strong>~Horace<strong>_

* * *

><p>The whole room is quiet. The crunching of the snow on the screen is almost deafening as the girl sneaks forward. I don't know how she doesn't realize that it's a trap, she's so loud that she'd wake the dead. I see Nuts and Volts get up and leave the room, unable to bear what's going to happen.<p>

I focus in on the camera that shows Acanthus, he's shivering and his face is pained. He waits till the girl sinks her knife into the bag over and over, her face shining as if she's had some small victory. But then he's on her, and she's dead.

The cannon booms loudly as he stares into her blank face.

For a moment, he doesn't move and I'm screaming at the screen for him to get the hell out of there. Something snaps in place and he takes her jacket and her boots. The only other thing she had was her knife, no other weapons or supplies—nothing.

He kicks out the fire and wraps his sleeping bag around him before zipping up his jacket. He walks silently through the woods, carefully leaving almost no footprints. I look up to the score board and see that his odds are going up significantly. He's killed four now.

Within a few minutes he has more money in his account and I watch him as he finds a new place to settle. His back is against a small rock overhang. There's a tree to the side that it would be easy for him to climb and escape.

I check all the screens and see that no one is even close to the area. With a few punches of the buttons, I send him a piping hot bowl of heavy filling soup from our district.

When he unwraps it, his muscles relax and he settles in to eat the soup. It's not the best type of communication but it's the best I can do. Soup to stay, wooden soldiers if dangers are nearby. I try to think of other warnings I can give him but nothing comes to mind. There's too many eventualities that could arise.

As he finishes his food, I see how exhausted he is. He pulls himself up in the tree, so tired that it's hard for him to make it up there. But he climbs higher and higher until he wedges himself in the fork of two branches and falls asleep.

Nicholas pulls me up heavily from the seat, "You need a break Johanna."

"I need to stay with him," I jerk my arm back never taking my eyes off the screen.

"The party, Johanna…"

I roll my eyes and stand up. "Fine," I heave out a sigh. "Just watch my stuff," I point to the bag underneath the desk.

I make my way to my room and hastily dress, knowing that Raven will likely be here to pick me up soon. The dark brown dress hugs my body, showing off the tan skin. My fingers play with the crystal dangling around my neck. I braid my hair messily and pull on some heels.

I move out into the warm streets where cameras are flashing brightly. I can't see anything, but I can feel the pressure of his hand on my arm as he pulls me close to him. I would know him anywhere. My body draws to him like a magnet, the naked flesh of my bare back tingling where his hand trails down to my waist.

I smile up at him, finally able to see him. His lips press to mine, melding me into blissful forgetfulness for at least a few minutes. The dull flashing of lights beyond my lids brings me to the present—the moment is passed.

He helps me into a car and we don't go far. There's a mansion filled with lights, the sound of laughter pealing out of the house. Drunken curses, shadows moving in the night with some malicious or dirty intent…It's a Capitol Party.

When I walk in, I can see that I'm the only Victor who's entitled to roam about and do as I please. Various other tributes hang off of the arms of the ones that are holding the purse strings. The tight corners of their smiles barely covering the voracious teeth that wish to rend the flesh off of the hand that holds their arm just so.

Cashmere's shaking so hard that Gloss steadies her. Her lips are scarlet and her face pale as he plies her with another drink. Across the room, Belvedere's face is a mask of pain but still seductively purring at an old man that could have been her grandfather. I recognize him as one of the President's Cabinet, he has a penchant for young winners from District one or two. Before now, he'd been favouring Cashmere of late.

Across the room, I see Finnick wrapping his arms around an older woman with dark brown hair with dashes of grey at the temple. She lays her hand on him heavily as he waves the giftbox in front of her. Her lips touch his ear and then they start out of the room. Finnick pauses with his glass, his eyes catching mine and raising his glass slightly he toasts it and disappears into the night with the woman. She's one of ours—at least Finnick is safe from her claws, all that will pass between them is information.

I toast the air where he's disappeared and take a long sip. "Ms. Mason," my body stiffens as the venom of his voice infiltrates my ears.

"Coriolonus," I spit back. "I think we're familiar enough with each other to be on a first name basis." My eyes level on him as I hold my glass more firmly.

"As you wish, Johanna." The way he twists my name around it makes me sick, "You look happy Johanna."

"Looks can be deceiving, people found that out in my games."

"Looks like your boy is more like you than I thought," he lets it hang in the air.

"It's a surprise to me as well," I stare him down wondering what exactly it is he's getting out of this conversation.

I feel Raven's arm wrap around me tightly, jerking me to him. "Ah! Mr. DeCroix, just who I was looking to speak to. We have business to discuss."

Raven's jaw flexes and he swoops down to kiss me, his eyes closely guarded. "Don't wait up for me," he squeezes my hand a moment before walking out with the President.

My heart thumps loudly. What business does he have with him? What is he going to do to my Raven?

Part of me wants to go after them, to stop whatever is happening—but I know that's not even an option. I grit my teeth and take the car back to the control room.

The rest of the night passes uneventfully, and I lay back in the chair in my dress. My mind is in torrents as I watch Acanthus. He has a chance, or so I thought…but if Snow has taken a personal interest then he's as good as dead. And what does he want with Raven?

Somehow, despite myself, I fall asleep.

…

Nicholas wakes me up, and I find the control room is filled to the brim. My eyes hurry to the screen—Acanthus is safe, but the careers…they're fixing to have it out.

The careers are a pack forced together by a common bond. They do well when food is plentiful even if there aren't many weapons, but they know nothing of starving. This frozen tundra has given the other districts a chance. But now, they know there are too few tributes out there now and that it's time to trim down their numbers.

Anaon moves quickly against the boy from four—Roland. He's much slower, much less used to the bitter cold of the snow. Ace and Dexter face off too, the clashing of metal on metal is loud in the room.

Voices murmur, bets are made between victors. Anaon finishes Roland off quickly, he can't even keep up with her—huffing and puffing until the moment he doesn't breathe anymore.

Ace and Dexter struggle, Ace is faster and more brutal in his attacks. Dexter needs help to finish Ace, but his partner stands to the side cleaning her blade uncaring that he's about to be killed. But Ace kills him, pulling his sword from Dexter's body panting. The blood pours from his shoulder but he stands there facing Anaon.

"Good, now I don't have to kill him," she says zipping her jacket tighter.

"That's all you're going to say?"

"I'm not going to kill you. We're the last two careers left. There's four more out there. I plan on going home, but I know plans fail Dex. And I'd sure as hell rather it be you than one of them."

"Fair enough," he presses his hand to his shoulder to stop the bleeding. "I'll take half the supplies. See you at the end."

The both of them separate, wary of the other but neither circle back. Neither tries to break the deal. I hear the money changing hands, the bets being paid as I check back on Acanthus.

He's awake, exhausted and moving from the sound of the cannons. He moves quickly, keeping up his pace for hours. He's careful, finding a tree to take a break in.

As he sits there, I send him a loaf of hearty bread. His gloves are off to catch it and he tears into it like the famished child of our district he is. He knows he's safe, he can rest now.

His eyes close, and his brow furrows but he passes into a light sleep.

The cameras follow Anaon and Ace on their separate ways. Each eagerly hunting. The sun dims and slips down and Acanthus is up and moving again. Anaon kills the girl Carol from District 10 as darkness falls.

One by one, each of the five left look to the sky and tick off the names of the dead.


	97. Naked

_Doing the best to update on time, things are crazy here—a lot still going on. People might think I'm kidding—but for someone who doesn't work, my life can get pretty crazy with running 24 by myself (for now since Belles is gone—that's proofreading 300,000 plus words that have ALREADY been published at least twice each –600,000 words at least) and more chapters coming in every day. To top that off, there's been sickness—pet and human, and a little bit of writer's block._

_And then there's this._

_Johanna totally took over this chapter and made this chapter different then the outline had ever been—so different that I wound up having to split the chapter in half._

_I will be attempting to update sometime Saturday now that Johanna has had her say, she's letting me write easier._

_Also, I'll be releasing a one shot soon that was written quite quickly and distracted me from everything until I got it out._

_I have quite a few others planned, and well…more about that later._

_**"It's easy to take off your clothes and have sex; people do it all the time, but opening up your soul to someone, letting them into your spirit, thoughts, fears, future, hopes and dreams…that's being naked."**_

_**Unknown**_

The screen pans to show each of them standing there in their separate locations—Ace, Scythe, Syntha, Anaon, and Acanthus. The camera catches each of their faces, how tired they are—how ready they are for this to be over with.

Everyone knows it won't be long now. No one will sleep much tonight.

I pour a cup of black coffee and watch Acanthus staring at the sky for a few moments after the Capitol Seal disappears before settling deeper into the boughs of the tree. I watch as he passes into a light sleep, and my mind drifts mercilessly back to the problems at hand.

Now is the point in the game where the tributes won't be resting or sleeping much, and if things get too stationary the Gamemakers will interfere. At best, they've got till tomorrow evening to rest before more blood has to be paid.

But as much as I try to think of Acanthus, my mind starts drifting back to Raven and what Snow could want with him. At this very moment, he could be beating him or killing him…He could be asking Raven if he knows what I'm doing, if he knows that I'm a spy…

But there's no evidence I've left behind, no scraps of paper. I don't talk in my sleep. There's no way he could know, but it doesn't stop the prickling sensation on the back of my neck.

The truth of the matter is that I don't know what's going on with the one constant in my life besides the games. "I'm going to change," I tell Nicholas. He nods at me and watches me leave the room.

I make my way to the fourth floor, and I move down the hall and knock on Finnick's door. It takes a moment or two, but it opens. His eyes are dancing, his hair sopping wet as he stands in his towel. "Just in time, if I didn't know better I think you timed your visits to coincide with hot, steamy showers."

He winks at me as he closes the door. I move into the bathroom with him, and he jumps back in to the shower. For a moment, I lean against the sink. "I thought you might be out tonight," I pause.

"I was," he responds. There's a slight pain to his voice. I know how much he hates it. "I've got to go back out again," he pauses rinsing his hair. "What the matter 'Anna?"

He leans out to look at me, but I don't look him in the face. I don't want to for once. I feel a hot, boiling sensation of anger coursing through me like a shot of whiskey. He takes my hand and pulls me toward him, and I'm powerless to resist his pull.

The hot water runs over my head and clothes as he shuts the door to the shower. My arms wind around his chest and I bury my face against him as he strokes my head quietly. His lips are close to my ear, "This is about Raven isn't it?"

My body tenses unwillingly, but I don't respond to him. He pulls me closer to his bare skin. His voice doesn't ask, it states. "You love him…"

It's barely a whisper, not even able to be heard over the sound of the water. I don't know how to answer him, I want to say no….But….

"Has he come back from talking with Snow?"

"I don't know," my voice comes out a bit hoarse. Part of me doesn't want to know. What if I go back and they're all gone? What if Jacob is gone? What if there's nothing left and I'm to be sold back to the next buyer?

I know I'll survive. It's what I do, I do it because it's what I want—sometimes even if it's only to spite Snow himself.

"Go home to him," Finnick whispers.

I struggle to say something as I look at him through the falling water of the shower. "But how can I?" How can I care for him? How can I….love him? He's from the Capitol…everything I hate….and yet, _he_ is not.

"Shut up, and go," he pushes the water out of my face. "If Annie were here…"

I let go of him and push out of the shower and out the door into the hall. I'm dripping with water, and I almost run into Coral who looks confused at my state—but I push on by her and take the elevator down.

Pools of water gather at my feet, and I'm shaking as time ticks down and the floor hits basement level. I run down the long haul and find one of the waiting drivers to take me. I jump in and give him the address. I push the wet hair out of my face as he takes in my soaked appearance.

My heart hammers as the car goes up the street. It's past midnight now as we pull into the neighborhood. I jump out and run up the steps, taking in the darkened appearance of the house. It looks like no one is home….

I fiddle with the lock and throw open the door. I shout for him at the top of my lungs, terror seizing me completely now. "RAVEN!" I shout his name and take off up the stairs, I scream his name again as I reach the room. The bed hasn't been slept in—the sheets are cold.

"Jo?" His voice is loud, questioning, and concerned.

I run to the sound of him, tripping down the stairs until I see him standing there in the door to his study. He rushes to me, "What's wrong?" He touches my face, "Why are you wet?"

"I thought you were…"

"Dead?" He finishes. "Snow needs me too much for that."

There's a kind of horror to his words. How valuable must he be to Snow that he's not expendable? I choke on my words, on the feelings—knowing that despite what I feel, I can never give quite everything.

"I love you," I choke out. "I'm scared he was going to take you like everything else I love. You make me want to live…You make me hope for a future. I worry about you, you know things I've never told anyone else—like Ivy." No one else, not even Finnick knows the name of the baby I lost—the name that had been cherished for years and then torn away from my womb and then from the arena.

Never in my life have I felt more naked. I'd told him a lot of things I'd not shared with others. For the first time, I'm telling him…but I know that it's a stalemate. There's a line that I can't cross after this. There are secrets of mine he can't know completely, and there will come a point when I will have to choose between him and the Rebellion.

Even has he takes me in his arms and yanks off my clothes, throwing me on the desk as the fire roars in the background I know the truth. My hate for Snow will always outweigh my love for Raven.

I feel the sting of tears in my eyes. The bite of pain that stays and gnaws. I love him…I curse the idea, curse my stupid self for falling because there won't be a happy ending to this love story. I've given him as much as I can, but it can never be enough.

…

I'm panting still when he lets me slide down the wall to the floor. I push the sweat dampened hair out of my face as he kisses my neck more. "We could go again…" He whispers as he bites into my neck.

"I want to…" I push him back, "but it's four A.M. I have to go back for Acanthus. I won't be back till it's over."

"Okay," he lets me go to get ready. "I love you," he smiles as he sits down on the chair.

My fingers linger on the frame of the door, "I know." I smirk at him as I exit.

…

I'm back in Control before four-thirty. The room is starting to come alive, Nicholas fixes me a cup of coffee and passes it over. "They're moving," he says in a far away voice.

Ace is moving through the forest, his heavy tread as silent as he can make it. The camera pans to a few feet away where Scythe huddles against the base of a tree. You can't even tell that he's there except that the screen is focusing on him.

He waits for Ace to pass and lunges out with knife, seeking it deep into Ace's back. Ace howls in pain, the sound seemingly magnified—tributes in other areas of the arena stir. Scythe pulls out the knife and kicks hard at the back of Ace's knees, as he brings across the curved blade of his namesake. Ace's back blossom with red, tendons and muscles laid bare.

Ace falls down, lunging out with his sword and striking Scythe hard in leg—a deep gash opening and spouting blood. As he falls to the ground, they grapple violently blades swinging and hacking at flesh. There's blood flying, the bodies a mass of tangles.

Even though there's a size difference, it's hard to tell the two apart. Everyone in the room is standing breathlessly watching at the power struggle. Ace has more power, but Scythe is fierce and crazed.

The only thing we can really tell is that neither of them are going to come out of this in good shape. The grappling goes on for minutes, and it makes me flash back hard to Aeon.

"_He was nothing!"_

The words echo in my mind, bouncing off the walls and colliding again and again. It's not hard to remember him as he knelt there, screaming at me in his rage—handless, bloody, and awaiting death.

I come out of quickly, looking around—realizng that I'm not the only one that's been drawn into memories of the games. Almost every face is tainted with the pain of it, except Haymitch who drinks the last dregs of his bottle and the morphlings who never feel anything anymore.

The bodies struggle harder in the snow, and then finally one of them slows. The sound of panting filling the room. The top boy is pushed off, his face is pale and he's making a gurgling sound—a small knife sticking out of his stomach.

Scythe's hands jerk and move slowly to the blade buried in the pit of his stomach as Ace struggles to move, severely wounded. Scythe's hand grips the blade and jerks it and with one last surge of strength drives the blade into Ace's thigh, straight to the bone.

Ace screams as Scythe starts spitting out blood, choking and gasping—and I realize he's laughing. He's dying, but he's ruined Ace's chances. For someone in his District that's winning enough.


	98. Confrontation

**__Oh, gosh where to begin...There's been a lot so I'm not going to bore you. In short, I've been sick and my computer is dead (again). I'm borrowing my mom's computer for right now so I have limited access. Updates will be sporadic. I am going to attempt now that I can see straight again (for the most part) to update twice a week-but just depends on internet and computer availability. Hopefully my computer can be fixed soon because it's driving me crazy.**

**I will also be updating BTTTK shortly. Hopefully tomorrow or Monday. Updates will likely be slower since I lost the corrected versions on my computer. So here you go.**

**Thanks for sticking with me. Much love!**

**_No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path._**  
><strong><em><span>Buddha<span>_**

Ace pants in pain as he rolls over and away from Scythe. Scythe's disturbing laugh goes on like some demented being from hell. His mouth opens into a jagged grin, his lips smeared with blood, the laugh failing on his lips. His monitor in the room lets out a pulse then silence. Twenty seconds go by, and then another pulse. He lets out a little sigh and his cannon booms.

Finnick is shaking noticeably. Bellvedere grips a table to keep herself standing. Haymitch lets

out a coarse laugh, "Thatta boy."

The remaining tributes break camp as Ace struggles to catch his breath. Scythe's body hasn't been picked up yet because of how close he is to it. Slowly, he pulls off Scythe's jacket and shirt. He binds his wounds as tightly as he can, but even he must know that it's not going to be enough. The pool of blood beneath him is too big.

He struggles to his feet, leaning heavily on his sword. There's a trickle of blood from his nose

as he begins to walk. He walks slowly, a crimson line of blood trailing behind him.

Acanthus gathers up his stuff. No one is too close to his area. Syntha and Anaon do the same.

The next few hours are uneventful. No one comes across anyone. The arena seems to be chillingly calm.

Within seconds, that all changes.

Acanthus comes to the edge of a clearing, the snow uninterrupted as he looks across it. I can see him measuring out his options. Cutting across will save him time, let him see if anything is coming but it also makes him vulnerable. He eyes the treeline, preparing to turn into it when a low growl comes from the brush.

The message is clear, go into the woods and you'll have an equal risk. He knits his brows together before deciding to go across the clearing. He moves slowly, watchfully. He looks for any signs on the blank snow, but there are none.

I realize it a moment before it happens as the camera zooms in on his foot just as the bear trap snaps shut. Acanthus lets out a muffled sound as he falls to the ground, the teeth biting in harder. For a moment, he just breathes before he leans back to look at his foot.

But from somewhere comes a howl.

My eyes search through the screens until I find the one with Anaon on it. She had come upon a similar circumstance, only she had chosen the woods. The howls of the the mutts warn her only a moment before the attack.

Bears the size of two men attack her. Three of them circle and dive at her. The claws tear

across her face as she hacks away at one with her blade. She is able to keep the two away as she hacks at the body of the third.

The first one falls as the other two lunge at her simultaneously. Her blade skitters across the snow as they land on her. The black fur seals her in, and no one can see what is happening. There are guttural screams from the bears, harsh cries from Anaon.

I turn my head back to Acanthus.

A pool of blood is around his foot, the thin material of his pants not doing much to hinder the mighty jaws of the trap. His fingers try to slip beneath the trap to open it, but he doesn't have enough leverage. He looks up at the sky, breathing evenly between his teeth. I know he's looking for me, for some sign...some something.

I sit by the computer, my fingers not knowing what to type. Everything costs so much now, and what can I get him that will let him know he's okay for now? He looks toward the sky. Finally, I know what to send.

The parachute floats down easily, and he reaches up for it with bloody hands. A small first aid kit floats down. It's useful, plus it tells him he's safe enough to take care of himself. I glance across the screens again, seeing no one else too near.

My eyes drift back to Anaon. She's finally killed the second bear type creature. She struggles to get out from beneath it. She's got claw marks across her face, arms, chest and stomach but nothing too severe. At least, not severe enough to kill her—yet.

She faces off with the bear, her limbs sluggish and tired from the fight and loss of blood. The creature's eyes are a fierce red, and it's claws are half a foot long. It's a shock that she hasn't been completely eviscerated.

The bear is intelligent, unnaturally so as it feigns to the left then pulls to the right. She barely has time to adjust with her dagger to ward off it's claws. She barely holds her ground, unable to use the confusion of two bodies fighting against her. Sometimes, there's safety in being alone.

She drives it back for a moment, before it slashes her across the face again. She grimaces as she lunges under its next swing and drives the blade deep into its gut. She stabs fast and hard over and over again as it racks its claws over her back.

Anaon screams out, just as the bear's body falls to the ground lifeless. She falls to her knees panting, but my eyes flicker back to Acanthus. He's got his short axe pushed between the trap, and he's straining to pry the trap open as the ground smears with blood.

My eyes glance over the screens as he struggles against the trap. My eyes catch her as she moves through the woods on a screen. She's close, not too close—but if she continues on she will come on him. She's moving with purpose as if she knows where she's going.

For a moment, she stops at a clearing a mile or so away. She digs in the snow and gives a yank on a chain causing a line of bear traps to snap shut. She pulls them to her and puts them over her shoulder. So then...she knows where to look for him.

I send another gift, a small toy soldier and watch as it floats down.

It hasn't even touched the ground as he struggles to his other leg. He holds the heavy axe in his hand as he glances around. His eyes close and he breathes gently through gritted teeth. The trees creak with the cold. For ten minutes there are no sounds, and then a snap of a twig alerts him. He turns quickly but without sound. He looks over at the direction of the sound.

Syntha moves through the trees as quietly as she can but she's not from seven. She's not been taught to keep quiet or move through woods. Her subtle sounds drift to him as she moves along, the silent clang of metal piercing the silence.

Acanthus sheds his jacket. His long sleeve shirt is all that covers the top of his body as he holds his axe up, one hand out for balance and the other arm bulging with his muscles tensed. The branches sway slightly about thirty feet away, and then they part.

He pulls his arm back and throws it forward quickly, the heavy blade swirling hard and landing with a thud into Syntha's skull—almost splitting it in half.

_Her eyes glare into mine, not realizing until it was too late that I'd thrown my axe. Blood and brain matter spatter down as I turn to face her partner..._

_Wren is coughing, looking at me with expectant eyes._

The cannon goes off, snapping me out of it as he stands there panting for breath. He moves quickly, the sound of the hovercraft coming as he uses the axe to pry open the trap.

He heaves for a moment, grunting in effort as he bloodies his hands to get it open. The hovercraft is coming over as he throws himself from the trap and propels himself forward, half-crawling and flailing. He makes it there as the craft becomes stationary above. His hands grip the axe from her skull, and he moves away from her body more slowly.

Acanthus collapses a few feet away. He stares up at the sky for a moment as her body is lifted and taken away. His hands shake as he sits up and crawls back to his items. He pulls on his jacket quickly, before opening the kit. He cleans it quickly, putting the antiseptic on it before wrapping it with the bandages.

He pulls himself up to his feet, leaning heavily on his long axe. He kicks the trap, causing the chain to jerk and the other bear traps to snap shut. His lips are blue and cold, his face rosy as he moves across the way—unknowingly heading toward the end—toward Anaon and Ace.

Anaon moves slowly, tired and bloody. The Games have taken her toll on her and Acanthus, but Ace most of all.

It's no surprise when she takes him from behind an hour later. Ace has barely made it a hundred yards from where his last fight ended. He falls easily, perhaps already accepting it. He's dead before he hits the ground.

Night falls and the whole world is blanketed in peaceful night. The emblem comes into the sky, and the day's dead flash across it—Syntha, Ace, and Scythe. This morning alive and well, this evening dead.

Both of them bed down for the night, trying to warm and rest themselves. In the morning, they'll face off. My heart beats wildly knowing that I've done all I can for Acanthus, that this is all on him. I've brought him this far...and I won't be able to help him any more than that.

But the peace doesn't last long, as the sound of cracking and thundering makes them both jump up.

"What the hell is going on?" Belvedere asks.

"What did you think?" Enobaria laughs. Everyone looks at her, "Did you honestly think they'd get rest? There's only two left...it's a Saturday night. People need to be entertained." The harsh echo of her laugh rings true.

Anaon takes off running, the snow thundering behind her and pushing her toward the Cornucopia. Acanthus moves more slowly, his ankle bleeding and causing him to stumble. But he hobbles along as quickly as possible, barely outrunning the snow.

My breath hitches in my chest. They see each other at the same time, twenty yards across the clearing, the snow piled up behind them, the night sky shining on them, the stars twinkling down beautifully as they see each other for the first time in days.

Their eyes assess each other as they pant. This is the end.

Acanthus speaks, his words coming out between gasps—"I guess they want a show."

Anaon smiles, gripping her sword harder. "I was born to give them one."


	99. 23rd Psalms

_**Deus Volt, the Crusader's Motto meaning "Because God Wills It."**_

_**"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..."**_

_**The Conclusion of the 73rd Annual Hunger Games**_

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><p>"<em>Do you think we have a chance?" Her face is fretful. I can see them both sitting on the rooftop together.<em>

_Caine rubs his jaw for a moment, "I think if we stick together till the end, then we have a chance."_

"_But...if it came down to us," she looks up into his eyes. "Do you think you could do it?"_

"_I think," he pauses._

"_That it's our best chance," she sighs. "District Seven would be guaranteed a winner."_

"_Yes," he looks down at his thumb. "If I had to kill you to go home, I would but only if it came down to just us. Only if it was fair."_

"_You love her that much?" She watches as he nods his head. "I love Acanthus, my brother, that much too. I'll kill you, but only if I have to." Eve looks up at the stars. "Let's make a deal."_

"_What kind of deal?"_

"_We make it to the end, just us. Then we fight, fair fight between us for who goes home. No hard feelings, no regrets. The winner takes care of the other's family." She looks back over at him, "I could die if I knew Acanthus was safe. It would be easy, much easier."_

"_It is," he looks up at her. "Till the end, I promise. And if I win, your family will be mine."_

"_And yours mine," she breathes. "It's easier now isn't it? Going into the games with someone you can trust, knowing that you're not the only one watching out for the ones you love."_

_Caine grips her hand tightly. "It'll be one of us," his eyes shine bright. "I trust you with my life."_

_Eve smiles, "Strange isn't it? Three days ago, we didn't know each other. I think we would have been best friends."_

_Caine smirks, "Why not be friends now, until..." His voice trails off._

"_I don't think our friendship has to end there," she pushes back her hair._

"_Forever then," he says._

"_Forever."_

I snap out of the memory and watch as Acanthus stands there with Aeon. She's smaller than him, red hair caked with blood. Some of her skin laid open and pouring blood. Acanthus looks so much like Eve. Blue eyes, the stance—this look of hope. Kind of like when she made her deal with Caine. It would end in heartache, but she made it anyways just like he had aligned himself with Isadora.

"I doubt you'll disappoint them Anaon. Your death scene will be spectacular," he grins, baiting her.

Anaon takes the bait and lunges for him with a measured attack. She brings her sword around and he blocks it with the blade of his axe. It's a precise protection, carefully weighed so that she doesn't break the wooden handle of his axe. He swings around his hand-blade towards her side. She blocks it barely, the blade nicking into her side and opening up the skin.

They fall back from each other, and she's swift as her hand brings out a dagger and flings it helter-skelter at him as she swings the sword. He dodges the larger blade, but the dagger sinks into the meaty part of his shoulder. He roars with rage, swinging both axes at her, criss-crossing and slamming her back as his heart pumps blood out of his wound.

The metallic sound of their blades meeting and crossing, along with their groans, are the only sounds that fill the area. Anaon is smaller, typically faster, but her injuries are holding her back slightly. Acanthus, of course, has wielded an axe since he was a child. He's in pain, but he is desperate, trying to use her weaknesses to his advantage just as she is doing the same to him. They both batter at each other. Each lunge jars their teeth, each exertion makes their wounds bleed out more.

Their limbs grow heavier, and they pant as the battering keeps on. It's more a strength of wills of stubbornness now than anything. Each of them wants to live so bad, neither of them should have to die, but salvation comes with the others death.

Anaon strikes hard, and turns too far—Acanthus can't hit her with his weapons thrown wide, so he throws his arms around her and squeezes her to him, deadlocking her against him. She fights hard, and he holds on until she smashes her head back into his face.

His nose explodes with blood, and she rushes away from his embrace, but not before he drops his weapon and wrenches her arm hard. Her shoulder hangs limp at her side as she grips her sword. He reaches carefully for his axe as they stand apart from each other panting.

His eyes are starting to black, the blood streaming down his face even thicker.

"You're better than I thought," she pants out begrudgingly. On her face for a moment flickers the possibility that she might lose. "Who are you fighting for, 7?"

"Who are you fighting for?"

The stare at each other, and neither answers as they lunge at each other again. This time they're slower. The blood is smeared on the ground around them. It's thick and they slip in it over and over again. She slips to the left and he brings his axe down to her unprotected side as her right hand drops her sword and jabs quickly into him.

A flash of metal, and the stunned look on his face tell it all. His arm wavers a moment, and she knocks it away, and they both slip in the mud. For a moment, they grapple around and then he's on top of her, the knife still embedded in his gut, digging deeper as he presses against her to hold her still. She thrashes at his arms, digging her fingers into his wrists and scratching his face open, but she can't get his hands off.

Her hands fall away and she stops fighting him. Her eyes are popping out a little and she's blinking rapidly. But I see it, her hand is reaching for her blade so she can kill him. I want to scream to tell him to watch out as her hand lands on the blade. One hand slips from her neck and she gasps as her fingers curl around the blade.

Her fingers uncurl reflexively as his axe separates her wrist from her arm. She screams and in my head I hear Aeon scream with her, looking at her twitching hand, and then Acanthus' hand is back up at her throat choking her. But something is wrong. The blood spills out of his mouth, little frothy bubbles spill over and down to her face and her gasping mouth. She drinks his blood.

I glance at the control monitors and see that both of their stats are unavailable, to make even us Victors sweat out the winner 'til the end. She struggles against him weakly, and he coughs more and more blood into her face.

Then neither of them are moving, wide-eyes looking at each other.

The cannon booms loudly, making me jump in my skin. I grit my teeth.

Who is it?

No one moves. The sound of a heartbeat fills the room. It throbs then nothing but silence. Ten seconds pass and it gives another beat. Medics rush down and pull them apart. Anaon's head lolls to the side, as Acanthus coughs up a gob of thick blood. It keeps pouring from his mouth.

Caesar announces him as winner—but I can hear it even in his voice. He might not survive that long.

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><p><em><strong>Next update is ThursdayFriday depending.**_


	100. Eve

**_Chapter 100 _**

**_Thank you for sticking with me loves!_**

**_Next update should be Saturday._**

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><p><strong><em>You are young. The past is nothing to you, not even another country, as it is to the old, or a nightmare, as it is to the guilty.<em>**

**_Hodge Starkweather, City of Bones, The Mortal Instruments_**

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><p><em>But it's Wren. I have to keep telling myself that. It's Wren not Liam. But does it matter at all here? Nothing matters. All time is lost, all emotion…all humanity is foreign to this place. I'm trying to hold on to Johanna Mason, but she's slipping so far away now. I don't know if I'll ever get her back.<em>

_I brush the tears back, and force myself to stop crying. Wren's voice is cutting in, "Are you okay?_

Stupid foolish Wren more concerned with me than that he's dying.

I bury my face in my hands.

_Wren sits at the edge of my bed. He sees how badly I've failed with my scores. He doesn't know what to say, but he tries anyways. "It doesn't matter in the arena. You'll do fine."_

_I know he's being nice, and I hate him for it. But mostly, I hate myself because I'll have to kill him or watch him die so that I can come home._

_I look up at him earnestly, "You'll be careful won't you? Stay by yourself, do what you know? You'll have a real chance then."_

"_Sure, unless you'll go with me." He almost begs._

"_It's not a good idea, Wren."_

_I look up into his eyes, I want to tell him that he reminds me so much of Liam that it hurts. I want to tell him because if he sticks with me I'll kill him, that he's better off without me that I'm just a viper waiting to strike. But I hold those words in._

"_If you change your mind, find me in the arena."_

_I look up at him, "I won't."_

The car stops and I take off running out the door, the flashes of bulbs disorient me. I'm running wild. I burst through the hospital doors and I get to the desk. "Where's the tribute?"

"Ma'am," the girl tries to calm me.

"WHERE THE HELL IS MY TRIBUTE?"

She jumps back from me, "He's in transport."

"And?"

"I don't know."

"Then find me someone who does," I start to scream again but Nicholas stops me. She leads us to an office behind her and a woman is already on the phone.

"I'm placing the call, hold on." She dismisses the nurse as Nicholas closes the door behind him and then sits down. She puts the phone in the cradle, and pushes speaker phone. "What's his status?"

A voice comes on, urgent and professional, "He's coded three times. The last time they barely got him back. He's taken six pints of blood. They're trying to fix a severed artery. Infection has started in his foot and it's broken. They're doing all they can."

"How long 'til you're here?"

"Another hour, then straight to surgery and ICU."

I cut in, "Can I see him before he does?"

"We won't be able to stop. If you're scrubbed up and in the hall, you can run along with the table. You'll have maybe twenty seconds."

"I'll take it," I say.

_Wren sits there beside me and I know this isn't real, because he's alive. He doesn't speak, he just keeps me calm. It's stupid. I killed him. He shouldn't be giving me solace. "Go away, Wren."_

"_I can't."_

"_Why not?" I look at him tiredly._

"_You're keeping me here."_

"_I told you to go away," I shout._

"_And when you really mean that I will. This is your dream, your world not mine."_

"_I really want you to go away."_

"_That's what you say." He pauses. "It's a terrible thing to walk out of there alone isn't it?"_

"_So what? You came with me?" I laugh bitterly._

"_We all did," he sighs. "I wish it wasn't the case. But we'll never really leave you."_

_And he's right. Sometimes, he's so real that I think I see him sitting across the table with me at breakfast, or I hear his voice and turn to look for him. A flash of ribbon reminds me of Riley, glittering blue jewels of Feoras. Each of them forever triggered by some small moment._

My mind comes out of the remembrance of the dream, but I can't focus as I walk up and down the hallway waiting.

"_My brother is twelve," she smiles pausing the television and pointing to him on screen. Her smiles is made of glass, the edges cracking under pressure but the tears stay in her eyes and don't spill. "He has no one but me. He'll love Victor's Village." She wipes at her eyes, "Will you take care of him...if something happens to me and Caine?"_

"_No," I say flatly._

"_Oh," she says—her heart shaped lips tremble._

I scrub up, pull on the gown and gloves and face mask waiting in the hall to where they'll bring him through. I'll be able to run with them for twenty seconds, saw whatever I should. But what do I say? What do I say to him now?

I shut my eyes and breath as my heart pounds loudly in my ears.

_"We just have to outlast."_

_"Listen, I'm taller. I can hold you up for a bit after I go under. I can keep you up, before we have to try to swim. I'll squeeze your waist when I have to come up, take a big breath then. Take care of them. Please."_

_"I promised! I promise!"_

Their hands grip each other, holding on as if it's enough to tether them to this life. Tiny air bubbles float to the surface as they slip under.

_The underwater camera flickers to them and they're sinking down, struggling to get to the surface. But eventually they stop struggling, and they look at each other. Ghostly paleness beneath the water, her black hair floats out behind her and his lips quiver. Her other hand finds his and they grip both hands together, and hold on. His mouth moves, Till the end. The subtitles display._

_Her mouth opens, "This isn't the end." She smiles at him, not brittle but sad in a way. She shuts her eyes tightly, and he does the same. Both of them inhale the water, their faces clench for a moment and then their cannons boom. Their fingers stay interlocked, and slowly...ever so slowly, the float to the surface and away from each other._

Suddenly things move into motion, the doors crash open and I can see the stretcher being raced into the building. There are lines and tubes coming from out of his body. He's so pale that even the sheets seem to have more colour, his eyes flutter up at me. "Acanthus," I'm breatheless running with them. "Stay with me."

His eyes flicker then he flatlines, "STAY WITH ME! EVE DOESN"T WANT YOU THERE! ACANTHUS DON"T YOU DIE ON ME!" Nicholas grips my arms and holds me back as they slip into another set of doors, the sound of his monitor still flatlining. I'm still screaming, nothing dulls it. He's come this far to die.

Nicholas pulls me to him. "It's okay," just breathe out.

But breathing turns to tears, until I collapse to the floor with his arms wrapped around me.

Hours slip by as I sit there hallow, fading in an out of tortured sleep.

"_Jo. Johanna," my eyes flicker open and I see Wren standing there._

"_Why don't you ever go away?"_

"_We've talked about this before Johanna. I'm here because of you." I don't say a word, but he sits beside me. "He'll be okay, Jo."_

"_Why because you and your league of the glorious dead know it?"_

"_Because the Capitol has to have a winner, Johanna. They'll make sure of it."_

_It makes sense to me, he's right. "This is a dream isn't it?"_

"_Well you haven't been drinking," he laughs._

_I look at Wren keenly. "You're here. And you say it's because of me, but why?"_

_Wren leans over to me, "You still look like that fragile girl I thought I knew, but a lion lurks underneath. Johanna, I don't come to you to ease my suffering. There's no unfinished business for me. I'm here because you need me. It's your needs that call us to you, not ours."_

"_He's right Johanna," Eve's voice is soft and she's sitting on my other side and Caine leans against the wall._

"_No, you're here for Acanthus."_

"_No, I do not have the power to come back like that. I'm only allowed to because you care for him too."_

"_I don't," I spit.  
><em>

"_You care for him and you're not suppose to. And you feel guilty that's why I'm here. I want to know about him, but I can only be here because you want me to."_

"_I am guilty. You know what I did?"_

"_Say it," her voice is more urgent._

"_I killed you, I killed you both!" I scream it._

"_Finally," Caine sighs as he saunters over._

"_We forgive you," Eve whispers._

"_What?"_

"_It's why we're here, to forgive you. We dont' hate you."_

"_Is any of this real?"_

"_I'd like to think so, because it's how I really feel even if I'm a figment of your own thioughts."_

_I sit there soaking in their words, but they fade away like vapor in the morning mist. The room is empty and I stare at the white walls. Scenes flit around me, and I feel like if I turn I'll see him again...I'll see Ivan. But I'm afraid to._

_His hands are soft on my face as he turns my chin up to him. "Johanna, "I'm here. I won't leave you. I'm here." His eyes glisten with tears as he leans down to my face. His lips envelope mine and my arms snake around his neck, my cheeks are damp with tears._

I part from him and take a deep breath and look up into his eyes. It's Raven, he's here. The ghosts are gone.

I rub my thumb along the side of his face and just look at him. "You're here..." It's barely a whisper.

"Forever and ever."

_Forever, Eve. Forever_

His hand grips mine as we wait. We wait and wait there in the hallway. No one comes by, no one updates us. Nicholas brings back muffins and coffee, but I take neither.

Eleven hours more pass before they come out.

Instantly, I can see his coat is stained in blood. He pulls the mask of his face, "He's going to live. We were able to save his foot, but we had to replace the ankle joint with metal. He lost a lot of blood, he's still weak. He crashed eight times." He pauses to wipe the sweat off his forehead. "He lost eight foot of intestines. His other wounds are stitches up. He'll be on morphling for awhile."

I can't speak at all, but Raven does. "Can we take him to my residence where he can be more comfortable?"

"I don't see why not, Mr. De Croix. Give him three more days here, then he can recover more there until his interviews."

Acanthus is in and out of consciousness every time I check on him. I keep my silent vigil but the morphline has him floating into the ethereal. At one point he looks at me and says, "Eve."

I hold his hand steadily, "I'm here baby. I'm here."

"Oh, Eve..."

He calls me by his sister's name for awhile and then drifts away. Sometimes, I think I'm losing my mind. I think I see her standing in the corner of the room, sometimes holding his hand or kissing his brow.

One morning, I find myself humming the banned song to him before he interrupts me, "Johanna?" His voice is hoarse as he look at me in confusion.

"Yes," I say it breathlessly.

"How long?" He croaks out.

"Seven days. When you're better enough, you can stay with Raven and I they said it might let you heal better until your interview."

"Can we go now? I need out of here," his eyes are pained.

"I'll see what I can do."

By the next day, he's comfortably situated in a spare room at Raven's. He's able to stay off the machines now as long as he eats and drinks and moves around some. The only thing he has hooked to him is an IV of Morphling.

He doesn't ask questions or say anything much for awhile. He seems lost in a world of pain. I can see the depression starting to sink in.

I wave away Raven and Nicholas and tell them I need to speak with Acanthus alone. Slowly they file out of the room, and I can hear my heart thudding in my ears. Blight did this for me, he helped me to fight.

"Acanthus," I start. His blue eyes look at me dully. "I need to talk with you about what is expected of a Victor."

"Expected?"

"You're too young right now, but in another year…Victors don't just win and then go about their lives. They are bought and sold." He stares at me, "Sex is a hot commodity in the Capitol. They'll sell your body, if they could they'd sell your soul. They'll use everyone against you that they can."

"I have no one," he says bitterly.

"Anyone you were friendly with, maybe even the girl Caine loved just because…They'll make you pay. I paid a lot."

"Raven buys you," he says shrewdly.

"Yes, and here it's like it's all some big secret, but everyone knows."

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, "I have a year?" There's pain etched on his face.

"Yes, but there's more Acanthus so much more."

He opens his eyes and leans forward, "What then?"

"I'm part of the resistance. It's safe to talk in this room. We're working on overthrowing the Capitol. District 13 is alive."

He scoffs, "Right."

"It's real, and we're looking for a catalyst. Someone who can be a model for the rebellion, a figurehead. That's all we're missing now, someone to rally behind." I pause again, "If you want when you're better you can join us. You can try to help the Rebellion."

He doesn't say a word. I can see him sinking further under, so I give him the one thing that will cause him to fight back.

"I killed her you know," I spit it out as I stand. "I killed Eve and Caine."

"What?" His eyes sharpen and look at me.

"Finnick's girl was in the games, and I made a deal to have the arena flooded so they'd die, so that Annie would win. I'm the reason she didn't come home, and I'm not sorry." I glare at him, lying that it doesn't' affect me. "I take that back, I'm sorry that she couldn't' have been the one to win this years games and not you. Disappointment at every corner."

His face is cold and hard, every line in his body is taut. The heartrate monitor shows his pulse is high.

"I'd do it again," I say just as he smashes the glass across my face.

For a moment, I'm stunned and shocked at his sudden move and my inability to dodge it. The blood drips down my face onto the carpet. I pick out a piece of glass imbedded in my cheek and leave the room.

I lean against the door, now he wants to live so he can kill me.


	101. Devolution

_Hey guys! Sorry it's been awhile I've been dealing with some massive stuff going on. I really don't want to talk about it right now. Just know that things have been rough, I'm on the ropes but not down for the count. Next update should be Sat. Between now and then, I'll be getting BTTTK back on track and responding to PM's that have piled up in my absence (and reviews). Thanks for waiting on me and sorry for the wait!_

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><p><strong><em>Mea culpa mea, maxima culpa<em>**

**_Latin adage meaning_**

**_"My own fault, my most grievous fault."_**

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><p>I stand there in the hallway, leaning against the door as the blood drips down my face. My fingers float over the plains of my face. A large gash close to my eye has another piece of glass. I turn toward the mirror in the hall, and carefully pull out the inch long piece of glass deeply thrust into my flesh. I can feel anger rising up in me.<p>

I lean against the table and look down, trying to control my own rage. My eyes dart to the vase, made of simple glass—completely breakable. My fingers itch for it as I remember a conversation from a week ago.

"_Why do you keep buying vases? They always wind up broken," I growl._

"_So you'll have something to break," Raven laughs._

I pick up the glass and bounce it in my hand for a moment, watching the tiny prisms of reflected light as I gaze at it. I pull my arm back and pitch it down the hall into the far wall. Water and glass rain down in beautiful symmetry and I can feel myself smiling, the piece of glass in my lip biting into me harder.

Acanthus does not tolerate my presence. No one knows what happened between us, not even Nicholas. I don't' tell him. I watch as Acanthus anger grows exponentially until it takes on a life of it's own. I can see it coursing through him, driving him to fight harder.

It's only days later that he's up and walking. His gate a little stiff with his ankle, but he's well enough to go to the Victor's ceremony.

They dress him up in a black suit, and black shirt. An electric blue tie sets off his eyes, and as I stand there waiting for him, I see Eve again. Eve who will never leave me.

My blue dress plunges low and wraps tightly around my body. We all get in the car, and for long minutes there is silence. I can feel Acanthus glaring at me. "What?" I spit at him.

His expression doesn't change, but he looks away as his fists clench and unclench. He hates me a lot, not that I can blame him. The car ride remains uncomfortably silent.

When we get to the building everyone rushes around. We're lead out to a cheering crowd as they present the Victors. We smile and wave with her pasted on smiles. Then it's Acanthus' turn. Slowly, he rises from the floor—I remember that ascent into hell. Could it be that it was only four year ago?

He has changed, and even the crowd sees that. They love it. His face is dark, heavily lined. There's a sullen rage that becomes him. He's no bright eyed boy anymore, he's a man who's killed and who's died. Every inch of his body says it.

Caesar smiles at him, introduces him. President Snow walks forward as Acanthus sits on his throne. Snow's full lips smile at him as he presses the crown down on his head. Their eyes meet, they focus on each other and then Acanthus smiles as he looks down.

The screening of his games begins. None of it seems to bother or dismay him. There's a slight clench of his jaw when Isadora blows herself to hell, but then nothing at all. He seems…interested in the battle between himself and Aeon.

The screening ends, and Caesar tells him he's "oh so glad he pulled through." And then it's over, and we're dismissed until he has the interview tomorrow.

Nicholas greets him back stage, but Acanthus remains stiff and aloof from the Victors. Nicholas grabs his arm firmly and guides him, "We'll practice for the interviews now. Johanna—"

"I don't want her there," Acanthus voice cuts in.

Nicholas grips his arm tight, a snapping look in his eyes—like that day I saw him in the garden. "That's enough of that," his voice is cold as ice and brittle. Acanthus looks at him wearily, "You'll do what I say because it's not just your life on the line boy."

I watch as Nicholas grips Acanthus so hard that Acanthus grimaces. He leads him away, his eyes once more peaceful. The air is still electric with the charged situation.

Haemon loops his arm through mine and has me help him along. He's taken to using a cane though I'm pretty sure he's not that feeble. But he likes to have it around for a weapon—it's the only one he's allowed to carry.

He speaks low as we walk behind Nicholas and Acanthus down the dark halls. "It's because of her you know," he says sadly.

Katerina.

I should have known.

"What did she say in her interviews?"

Haemon rubs a hand across his face. "She was so vibrant, so likeable. Everyone loved her. She was too much to look at it, to be around—she was that alive. It made them all want her. In the end, I think that's what made the decision for her." He pauses, "In the interviews, we each attract a certain…type." He smiles, "There's still a lady I see now and then."

I stop and look at him in shock. "You still do _that_?"

"I'm not dead yet," he laughs. "It's not the same for me or any of the others as it is for you—or any of the young ones." He moves along in silence for a moment. I think I know what he means—to him it's nothing. There's no repercussions for it or whatever, so there's only pleasure and secrets. Still it's weird to think of them that way.

We get in the car all together and I can see how distant Acanthus is. I can almost trace the paths of his thoughts. The pain in his mind, the knowledge that his sister died because of me that in some misguided act of penance that I had made it possible for him to win. Does that mean he owes me on some level or are we even? Is it worth it to try to kill me? Could he kill me? Does it matter? Does he want to kill anymore? Did he like it?

It's all the same thoughts that drifted in my mind when Blight told me. The same familiar paths each victor goes through with different answers. Some are afraid of the questions or afraid of the dreams—they drift into alcohol or drugs or sex.

His eyes glance at me and I can see the burning hatred. I think, he might just have decided to kill me.

"No, you can't say that." Nicholas shakes his head.

"Why? It's the truth," Acanthus rubs his sore ankle absently, his brow creased.

"They don't want the truth," I say in exasperation as I pour two shots of whiskey. I hand one to him. "You have to craft an image and keep it up."

"And what's your image?" He sneers, "A B—"

"Enough," Haemon cracks his cane on the table. "Whatever is happening between you two, stop. You have an interview tomorrow Acanthus and unless you want every person in the Capitol begging for your body, then you have to be careful what you say and do."

That gets his attention. Acanthus yanks the shot out of my hand and downs it in one gulp. He coughs violently and his eyes stream tears. "It gets smoother with time," I say as I sit down and down my shot with the flick of a wrist.

"Let's not be giving him vices just yet," Nicholas laughs.

"So how do you want to play this Acanthus? You're the one who has to live with it."

Acanthus closes his eyes and leans his head back. For a moment, he doesn't move and then slowly he opens his eyes. "Aloof, cold. Distant."

Haemon rubs his jaw line. "You'll attract the less romantic types. More than likely you'll get one and done. But you may attract some sadists. But it's probably your best type to pull off."

"I agree," Nicholas says. "it's his best bet."

"Now what?" Acanthus asks.

"Practice," I say.

…

It takes a few hours to drill it into him, that every action must be cold and aloof—no flashes of anger, but a careful mask. They have me batter at him with quips and barbs that Caesar might ask. He reacts against me violently at first, no matter what I say.

Nicholas drills it into him every time that he can't react that way to Caesar, "But I'm not reacting that way to Caesar! It's her!" He's on his feet and in my face.

The room is quiet as we stare each other down. He hates me, the look of loathing is all over his face. "Which is why if you can stop reacting to me, you won't react to anyone." I poke him hard in the chest. "Now sit down, let's work."

I go through half a bottle of whiskey as we go at it some more. But as the hours flee away, it becomes easier for him. The mask slips into place, and it doesn't budge even when I ask the him the most invasive questions.

"So tell us who's waiting for you back home?" I ask slamming down my glass.

His shoulders shrug lazily, "No one."

"That's enough," Nicholas takes the bottle away from me and pours another shot and hands it to Acanthus. "Take it and go to bed, we'll get to go home tomorrow."

Acanthus downs it and obediently does as he's told.

I make my way to my room, leaving Haemon to talk with Nicholas. I move into my room and don't even bother with the lights. My eyes are just beginning to adjust when I feel a hand around my throat. I kick out hard, but I'm slammed against the wall harder. The body is lean muscled. My hands smash out, trying to hit his nose or scratch his face.

But before the fight can start, he's on the floor. The lights are flipped on, "What the hell?" Finnick stands there over Acanthus who's laying on the floor with smoldering eyes. "I came to check on you, 'Anna."

"Thanks," I say as I rub my throat. "I could have taken him though."

"Whatever," Finnick's face is filled with rage—it reminds me of footage of his games. "Get out now Acanthus, before I break you neck. Hurt her and I'll do it no matter what the cost."

Acanthus pulls himself slowly to his feet, a cool look on his face. "Is that so?"

"We're Victors we stick together or we all die. Sooner you get that through your head, the better."

Acanthus leaves the room, and I'm alone with Finnick. "What's this about?" He looks at me with that penetrating gaze.

"Finnick," I warn him.

"Fine," there's anger in his voice but he tries to keep it at bay. "I thought you might need me."

"I do," I wrap my arms around him. "Finnick, I always need you. Stay."

He runs his hands through my hair, "Okay."

In the morning, I disentangle myself from the bed and Finnick's arms. He moans about it being too early to get up, but in all honesty it's well past noon. My head gives a dull ache from the alcohol leaving my system. I pour another shot, and toss it down letting it sting my throat. I know I'm going to need it today.

I make my way to the bathroom, and stop short as I look at myself in the mirror. Around my neck are two blotchy bruises. There's no way in hell I'm covering those up with a little dab of make-up. If anyone else sees this—if Nicholas or Haemon saw…If Raven…

My hand goes up to my throat and I touch the tender skin. Finnick walks in and makes a face. "I'll need to cover this up," I say looking at him in the mirror.

"Why are you covering for him?"

"Because he's a Victor. Because I owe him." I taste the bitterness in my voice. He doesn't ask more questions, he knows about owing.

"You must owe him a lot," he says silently.


	102. Bruised

I'm sorry that I've been gone so long. A lot of things have happened, and in truth my heart is broken even as it keeps on breaking. My sister's dog had an emergency C-section, one of the puppies had difficulties and I had to pretty much hand raise it since it was two weeks old. There was also a stomach virus from hell. My injury at Disney World. Several ER vet visits, and my cat CC being diagnosed with heart disease ( a heart murmmer and clot that were making her unable to walk). She was really bad off, and then she got better and was able to walk again. Then she died, quickly and without fanfare. They had told me it would just happen sometime, but she was better and I was not prepared.

There are other things going on, including my computer being in the shop again. I've been completely and utterly devastated. But don't give up on me. My computer should be back soon. And with it my notes and stuff that I've sorely missed.

So please, stay with me and have faith that I am doing everything in my power to get back to you guys, I miss you terribly—but please know that I am grieving and my heart is sore with it. I'm going to try to update again this week, but since I'm having to borrow a computer it may be a little longer. I will be working back on BTTTK soon too, but again I don't' have my own computer so it may be a bit longer.

Thank you for staying with me. Your prayers would be appreciated.

"Saying his name stabbed my heart, like someone had ripped through my carefully stitched up world and exposed the infected, pulsing red tissue that I thought was healing. "  
>― Colleen Houck<p>

Finnick helps me find a dress at the back of my closet that I'd never worn before. The red dress features an archaic looking collar, tight around my neck but it's the only way in which its modest at all. Below the collar, the dress gapes wide and plunges to below my belly0 button00, exposing most of the skin in-between. Strips of cloth go over my nipples and gather at the side, leaving a diamond shaped opening. The whole of the dress open in the back, and only stopping short of revealing anything.

I struggle in the tight like sheath for a moment, before I curse, and rip it from hem to thigh. "Much better," I smooth my hands on my dress.

Finnick looks at the dress skeptically, "Why did you bother dressing at all?"

"Shut up," I put on make-up hastily, dark contrasts and red as blood lipstick. I rub my lips together as I glance at Finnick. "Aren't you going?"

He's reclined on the bed watching me, "I'm going home before unless you need me." He looks hesistant.

"No, it's fine," I smile bitterly. "You don't have to protect me Finnick," I slide some bracelets on and some sky-high stillettos. 

"I do—" He starts to say.

"But you need to protect Annie more, Fin. Go home." He moves across the room and kisses my forehead, still taller than I am.

"Be good, my girl," he whispers into my hair and I cling to him so hard that I can't breathe. Every time he leaves, it's just like Liam leaving me for the games. I worry that he won't ever come back, but I let him leave without another word.

I get in the car to find Acanthus and the rest are waiting there. Acanthus has his mask firmly in place, and he glances at me for only a moment before his eyes drift back to the window.

Nicholas pours three fingers of whiskey into four glasses and passes them to Haemon, myself, and Acanthus. "To going home," he says.

We all dip back our glasses and remain silent for the rest of the ride.

I've already said my goodbyes to Raven, two nights ago.

"_Can't you stay?" He whispers into my neck._

_I push him away firmly, "I can't. He's not adjusting well. If he's not watched, he'll get himself killed."_

_He rubs his finger alongside my jaw, "How long till you can come back?"_

"_I don't know…I'll come when he can be left alone."_

The car pulls up at the studio and Acanthus gets out, dressed completely in black with a red tie—almost as if we matched on purpose. He reaches for my arm, and I'm a little surprised that he does. He guides me in as people snap pictures, he leans close to me his lips near my ear but his face still impassive.

"Finnick won't be there all the time," his voice is cold and emotionless.

I smile and lean back to him, "And if you try that again, just like Isadora there won't be anything left of you to bury."

We don't speak again, but I know it's not over. He probably doesn't care if he lives or dies. That puts him at a distinct advantage over me, because I still, crazy as it is, want to live.

Caesar sits him down in a chair, and starts quietly talking to him. He's trying to put Acanthus at ease, but Acanthus is beyond any of that—it's as if he's made of stone. He unbuttons his jacket, upon Caesars request, to look more relaxed. It still doesn't work though, he's cut from stone—rigid and looking bored.

Something passes over me like a chill, deep down to the core of my bones. I can feel someone staring at me, my instincts kick in like any prey does. And there he is, standing a few feet away.

Snow.

He walks casually over to me a white rose in his hand as he pauses by me, his cold eyes looking into mine. I lift my chin defiantly. "My dear Ms. Mason, don't we look lovely this evening?"

I don't answer him.

"The niceties must be observed Ms. Mason. Surely as the mistress of Raven, you understand that?"

I keep looking at him, making a valiant effort not to speak.

"He's a very powerful man, Raven DeCroix is," he pauses. "He cares for you an awful lot doesn't he Ms. Mason?" He doesn't wait for my answer. "I have always wandered how anyone could love something as icy as you, Ms. Mason."

I smile at him quite serenely, "It's beyond me. I don't see why you should care though, he pays you well enough."

"That he does," he looks out at Acanthus. "I wonder what kind of price the boy will fetch?"

I can feel the hate welling up in me, "What do you want?"

"What do I want Ms. Mason?"

"Yes," I stare at him, my fists clenching at my sides. "Why are you bothering me?"

He laughs lightly, "Just touching base with you my dear. When the interview is over, I'd like to have a little talk with Acanthus in my office." His snake eyes pin me down, "I'm sure you remember where my office is don't you?" His thick lips pull back over his teeth, "Right up the _stairs."_

My hand goes back to hit him, but it's held quite firmly by someone. I let out a huff of air and stop struggling, Snow's eyes narrowing at something behind me. "Darling, why didn't you tell me that you would be late?"

Raven's voice helps me stifle some of my rage, but he doesn't let go of my raised arm. I can see that several people are looking at us. "Mr. DeCroix," Snow inclines his head.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to steal Johanna away for a few moments?" Raven's voice is refined and warm, but there's a current of ice beneath it.

"Don't let me keep you two love birds," Snow saunters away as my eyes bore daggers into his back.

Raven pulls me tight to him, wrapping his arms across the front of my body. The pressure holds me there as I struggle against him some and then stop. "Johanna—"

"Don't," I snap. I know I shouldn't have let him rile me that way.

We stand there and I breathe in and out trying to control myself. "We need to take our seats," he leads me out, my face still a mask of rage.

Only a few moments pass before the show begins.

Acanthus sits there, his body turned slightly away from Caesar.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen! Today, we have with us a very special guest, Acanthus Johan, the winner of this year's Hunger Games!" There's a sharp smattering of applause, but Acanthus seems not to notice.

"So tell us, when did you know you won?"

"When you told me," he deadpans. A few people laugh uncomfortably.

"Aren't you clever!" Caesar flashes that bright smile. "So what's it like to be a winner? What are you most excited about?"

"Well, I haven't been one long enough to know Caesar," he gives a nasty little smirk. "I'd have to say the train ride home."

Caesar tries to turn around the ungrateful sounding response, "Just miss home? Someone back home must be waiting on you! Do tell us who it is? It can be our little secret."

Acanthus doesn't miss a beat, "If there's someone waiting on me back, I'll be surprised. There's not a soul back home that cares for me."

"Oh surely that can't be so?"

"Believe what you like."

Caesar became a little flustered. "Well have you met anyone here that you'll miss?"

This is the part we'd warned him to be careful with, "I can't say that I will, most of my time here has been limited to the hospital. As you can imagine, I'm happy to be out of there."

The banter kept on like that, no matter what Caesar attempted Acanthus gave him no ground, he was completely impassive. But then the one thing I hadn't thought to prepare him for happened, "Acanthus, how do you think your sister would feel about your win if she were here with you now?"

Acanthus face blanched for a moment, then smoothed back into smooth lines. "She's dead Caesar. As you know, the dead don't have feeling or opinions once they're gone, so I couldn't imagine that she would have any."

I let out a breath. The way he spoke, he acted as if it didn't bother him, but I knew the truth. I knew how pained he was, how much that had cost him. A few minutes later when the interview ended, I was already waiting in the wing.

Acanthus came off the stage, pale and shaking, a terrible noise coming from his closed mouth. I walked up to him where he stood, his arms held vertical to his body as if he didn't know what to do. His body was shivering violently. I reached out to him, and he came into my arms like a child would.

For a split second, he just let me hold him before he started violently thrashing about to get away from me. Quickly, I spun him around and crossed my arms over his chest, pinning his arms there. He fought against me hard, but I was stronger.

His legs gave out beneath him, and I stood there holding him up as he sobbed.


	103. Back at Snow's Mansion

**Things are still going on, BUT I have a new computer. Hubby got a new and better job. Things are looking up in some ways and down in others, so bear with me still. Trying to get all my stuff from old computer on to here, might still be a little slow. But things here and at 24 will be starting up soon. Just goign to take a few days and such.**

**Thanks for the prayers!**

_**"At the temple there is a poem called "Loss" carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it." ― Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha**_

At some point, Acanthus came back to himself—came back to the knowledge that I was the one who was holding him up. Me—the one who had taken everything from him. Jerking away from me, he fell to his knees and then slowly got up. He wiped at his nose like a child trying to hide his tears when his father tells him to man up. The mask goes back into place, all visible vulnerability gone.

"President Snow wants to talk to you."

He meets my eyes and nods, and we leave quickly, avoiding crowds on the way to the car. Nicholas and Haemon were nowhere to be found, so we made our way without them to Snow's mansion.

Each mile that passed caused my heart to contract painfully. Each turn of the tire, causing little beads of sweat to break out on my skin. My throat feels dry and parched, my head aching as the car pulls up. For a moment, my vision swims before me as I step out of the car and look up at the steps leading into his mansion.

Acanthus gets out and stands beside me, gripping my arm and pulling me up the stairs with him. I know that he can feel the slick sheen of sweat on my arms but he says nothing. The doors open up and I see the blood red carpet swim up before my eyes in a sickening manor. I stop short, my teeth clenched.

Blood. Blood. My baby! My baby….I can feel the blood pooling down my legs, the stab of pain in my side from broken ribs. Maybe I'll die…she's gone, my little baby is gone…

I grit my teeth harder and force myself back to the present, I force myself to stop focusing on the carpet where I fell years ago. I try to make myself forget that my blood is probably still mingled into that carpet, as much a part of it as was once a part of me.

My mind drifts as Acanthus pulls me forward. I wonder how many others left their blood on the walls and floors? How many bled out and lost a piece of themselves here? I think about Cashmere and how her water broke as she sobbed, knowing that the baby would be taken away from her. That nine months to hold it and love it was all she had had, had she ever gotten to hold it in her arms?

The realization that I'm half way up the stairs intrudes in and I look up and see the end table, with an exact replica of the vase that I smash. I falter, my heel catching on the edge of the stair.

For a dizzying moment, my weight falls backwards and terror seizes me before Acanthus jerks me back up. My stomach feels sloshy and full, aching as the acid swirls around in there. I grit my teeth harder, and bite into my lip as we reach the landing.

Acanthus goes in to the office, and I am left alone.

I look down the stairs, seeing the whole thing play out as if it was happening now. I see myself falling, I see my body rolling down the stairs, and I hear the crunching of ribs. I see the widening spread of blood on the floor, and my body shaking with painful sobs.

My hand grips the banister tight. I can't do this. I can't. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, taking the memories and the pain and locking them in a box like my keepsakes. These halls are haunted, and I'll never fully get away from it—not when I'm sure that thousands of ghostly memories play out here daily.

But I lock the box, and grit my teeth harder.

Agitated, I pick up the vase. My fingers are sweaty, but I trace the faint lines on the vase. The etchings of some happy scene, it appears at first. But then I see that it's not kind hands holding the woman, but a man choking her with her hair. The script at the top of the vase says "Porporia's Lover".

It's another memory.

My fingers tighten around my hair as I pull it tight across his throat. His nails dig into my skin, raking long paths down my arm. I see his lips move silently, maybe he's praying…maybe he's….It last for aeons, for years without end before he stops struggling, but I hold on tighter. I hold on for far too long and then let go. His body falls to the ground, and the sound of the canon richochets in my mind.

I look at my arms, half expecting to see the claw marks there, or see the nail of his finger imbedded there like it had really been. But the scars are buffed away.

I lift the vase up again, knowing he put this here for my torture. I wonder why I didn't notice it before?

Pulling back my arm, I throw the vase hard, watching it shatter and smash on the way down the stairs. I can't help but smile a little, my eyes burning with some kind of fierce rage. My voice is barely a whisper, "You can go to hell…".

We are all silent as pictures snap at us before we enter the train. Acanthus hasn't said a word since he came out of Snow's mansion, and neither have I. We both kept our mouth's shut. I can see his mind reeling, the pale tone of his skin that has nothing to do with weeks spent indoors heeling but rather his talk with Snow.

The last camera flashes and we're allowed to board the train. One by one, we wearily make our way into the lounge like area. An attendant comes by and before the train even starts rolling, he's bringing us glasses, a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of vodka as Nicholas requested. No one refuses Nicholas.

I break the seal on the vodka, shooing the attendant off and fill each glass sloppily to the brim. The clear liquid spills as bring it up to my mouth, and down the whole glass with a neat flick of my wrist. I watch Acanthus practice the move as I pour another glass for myself.

I can feel the burning sensation as it glides down my throat, and the feel of the warmth spreading to all my limbs like liquid fire. I can feel all the muscles in my body relaxing as I pour another glass and down it. And another, and another until the world is blurry and I lean back my body unable to even lift the glass in my glazed over state.

Dimly, I can hear voices. The world drifts by my window at high speed, my mind drifting like a bee from flower to flower. The world is so much pleasanter this way, half bombed and out of it. I don't have to listen to anyone, I don't have to care about anything at all. There's no Snow, there's no….anything.

My mouth feels parched when I wake up, the dull ache of my head splits in pain as I squint my eyes shut. It's early and the sun shines way too bright in my eyes, "What the hell is it's problem?"

"Who's?" Haemon is pouring a large glass of whiskey.

"The sun, it's all shiny…and…shiny," I sputter out as he hands me the glass.

I nurse it, taking a few sips and letting it ease off the headache a little at a time. Acanthus is already awake with another glass, his eyes bloodshot. Nicholas is busy reading a magazine, neither of the older men had drank much after a glass or two—which was why they were still functional.

"Ugh," I moan. "How far?"

"An hour at the most," Nicholas snaps shut his magazine. "It's time both of you look presentable.

After a few issues, they get Acanthus up and propel him to his room presumably to take a hot shower and drink lots of black coffee while I fend for myself.

Getting up stiffly, I grab on to things and lurch forward grabbing the coffee pot. I pour a cup of coffee (with a shot of whiskey)and keep myself moving with the pot and the cup to my room. I drink the liquid as fast as I can as I make my way into the bathroom. I turn the water on and strip off my ruined dress.

I suck down a cup, and pour another, getting in the shower with the cup still in my hand but out of the water. The heat of it beats down on me and lulls me a little, but my mind clears some finally. I try to wash the reek of alcohol from my body—it's been a long time since I've drank this much, but it seems futile.

Finally, I drag myself out and pour another cup and another as I grab something more normal. Black pants and a green short sleeved shirt. Pulling them on, I look at myself in the mirror. The bruise marks are etched out brightly on my skin, the finger marks easily distinguishable. Luckily, there won't be any press here. Snow had made it clear that he was to go home alone.

So who cared what the District thought of my pretty little bruised neck? To hell with covering it up.

It didn't take long for us to disembark, and just a little longer ot make it through the crowds and to Acanthus home. After all the standard civilities, he moved into his home and shut the door.

Days passed without seeing him, not that I could blame him. I didn't want to be social. I stayed cooped up in my own house for days, reading or talking to Finnick or Raven on the phone. The whole ordeal had been emotionally exhausting.

But after three days, I made my way out through the heat of summer to the tribute's graveyard. There was a freshly dug grave, and a simple marker over it. The grave that should have been beside it was empty, and would remain so until her partner died too. Somewhere in this graveyard, my cross waited nameless beside Wren.

Ivy's grave was small. I wondered how much there was of her to bury, or was it mostly for show? I laid down the flowers that I had brought and sat there on my heels looking at her name.

I didn't even hear Adam come up. "Hey, Jo." His tread is light, even at his age.

I don't answer him.

"Nicholas said you'd be at Ivy's grave," he says.

Of course he did, "What do you want Adam?"

"This year's been rough Johanna. We all know that—"

"No kidding," I scoff.

"Johanna," he chides. "You and Acanthus are victors in the same district there's no room for petty fighting."

"It's anything but petty," I snark.

"Johanna," his voice is colder than I've ever heard and I turn to him. "You two have to get along, you need each other." I could hear the double entondre in his voice. They have some kind of job for Acanthus, so I need to make good with him. I need to make sure he's alright enough with me to trust the Rebellion.

"Fine," I say knowing it won't be easy.

"Why Ivy?" He asks quietly.

I stand up, "It's what my daughters name was. What we were going to call her, what—" I just stop talking it's useless to try to say anymore.

"I'm sorry," he says gently.

"Yeah, I know."

Another week passes and with it comes the news that the man in charge of the community center was found dead in his bed—murdered. Officially, no one cared. Everyone chalked it up to forcing the wrong girl to sleep with him. No one mourned him or really even cared.

Nothing else happens of much interest, but at night—I see a girl or two come and go from Acanthus house. I know that he's lonely, that he's thinking it'll be easier to do it here and now before he goes to the Capitol. There should be at least a few good memories of sex before you're with the freaks in the Capitol.

Despite the insistence to get on his good side soon, I give him space until the third week we've been home.

I make my weekly trip out to the graveyard to Wren's grave to find Acanthus sitting on the ground in front of it, waiting for me.


	104. Gravestones

**Here we go another update! Trying to get back on track! Expect updates/tryouts for the 24 collab coming soon. (Forum is up, as of now limited content)**

**Rest in Peace my beloved CC. And Happy Father's Day! Enjoy!**

_This is the dead land_

_This is cactus land_

_Here the stone images_

_Are raised, here they receive_

_The supplication of a dead man's hand_

_Under the twinkle of a fading star._

_Is it like this_

_In death's other kingdom_

_Waking alone_

_At the hour when we are_

_Trembling with tenderness_

_Lips that would kiss_

_Form prayers to broken stone._

_**The Hollow Men**_

_**TS Elliot**_

"So this is him?" Acanthus' voice is empty and hollow. His red rimmed eyes look at me, before taking another gulp of whiskey. He passes me the bottle and I don't even bother wiping the rim before I take a long chug.

I sit down heavily beside him in the warm dirt, taking another sip as the whiskey burns a path through my body. I let the words roll around on my tongue before I speak. "He wanted to save me, he thought I needed saving. People like us, don't need saving."

"I'm not sure that's true," he takes the bottle back from me and drinks again. "I think we need saving most of all," he whisper it so silently I barely catch it.

"I remember," he says. "He died in your arms, and he asked you to do it. How could you do it?" He looks up into my eyes, his face contorted in pain.

"Because I loved him, I loved him a great deal. He reminded me of my brother."

"I heard about him, he died in the Games."

I stay silent, "Why are you here?"

"How do you…" his voice trails off.

"How do I live with it?" He nods his head. "Because if I didn't live with it, I'd have killed him for nothing. I'd have let Liam die for nothing, Greta, Sven, my grandmother, Ivan…and my baby. And I can't let that happen."

"So you think that means you get to decide who lives and dies?"

I shrug my shoulders, not rising his taunt as he pulls himself up and walks to his sister's grave. He sees the fresh flowers that I've placed there, and as he sits down he pulls the petals one by one.

"I won't apologize for what I've done. I'd do it again."

"I undertand," he says bitterly.

It catches me off guard. "You do?" I can't help but to sound skeptical and shocked.

"If it had been your brother in that arena, and my sister…I would have killed him in a heartbeat. I'd have done it with my bare hands." He takes another sip of whiskey. "You know, Michael Bastion, the head guy of the Community Center? I killed him."

I'm shocked at his confession, the air is knocked out of me. I look around half-expecting peacekeepers to come in and take him away. "You…what?"

"I killed him. He was in his bed, he'd drug another girl in there to sleep with him to get back rations that were already hers. He's done it to hundreds of them, even my sister. And she's dead. There's nothing I can do about that." His voice is bitter. "But when I talked to Snow, I told him I'd do anything he wanted if I could just kill him. And he told me 'By all means, if it'll make you happy'."

"Did it?" I ask, knowing that it was a loaded question. A part of me aches, makes me wonder why I didn't ask to kill the men who killed Ivan.

"It did," he flexes his hands in front of him. I tightened my hands until he couldn't breathe. He scratched up my arms, but feeling the life leaving him and knowing that I did this for her. I'll remember it for the rest of my life. I should have known it was a two-edged gift."

"Snow's gifts always are," I whisper back.

"I see him at night, just like the tributes. I hated him. I thought I wouldn't lose any sleep, but I do…And the alcohol…"

"Enough," I take the bottle away. "There's only room for one Haymitch."

He looks at me for a long moment, and I stare back at him. "I can't forgive you, I can't…But, I understand." He says it with great effort.

"And I know, we're in this together." He accentuates the word, and I know that he means the Rebellion, that we're Victors we have to stick together and that if it means he has to get along with me to get back at the man who's even more responsible for his sister's death than I am—well, he'll do it.

I reach for his hand and pull him up, I don't even feel like myself anymore. No snarky comebacks, no degrading him—out of everyone, I owe him something so I try to be kind to him.

He's tipsy as we walk back to Victor's Village.

"This is my house," he says as we stop in front of it.

"Good job, brainless," I snark.

"If it's mine, I wonder if it matters if I burn it to the ground?" He stares with loathing at the house. "I hate it, hate everything it stands for."

"You don't have to go back there, you can stay with Nicholas and them."

He hesitates, "I still want to burn it to the ground."

"I wouldn't," I say.

"You would," he takes another drink and then hands me the bottle.

It's only a few days after he's settled in with the other male victors that a gilded letter arrives. The heavy parchment can only mean one thing. He holds it in his hand and stares at it for long minutes. "So this is it then?"

"Time to pay the piper," I take it from him and rip it open.

As per our bargain.

Ms. Delainey Chamberlain expects your prescence on

The night of your Victory Ball in the Capitol. It is our ardent desire to have a child with a Victor.

The thin slanting handwriting falls away, and I throw the letter down at him. He reads it and pales. "At least it'll never go in the games," he covers his eyes wearily. His hands shake so much these days, it's been hell for him to come down from drinking. Days like this make it harder. It's easy to give up and go under the tidal wave of alcohol, easy to just obliterate all the memories than try to forget a handful of them.

Every night he stands in front of his empty house just like Nicholas gazes up at the stars. The same half-dazed, half-pained expression on his face. When I walk up to him, he doesn't even come out of until I say his name five times. I'd learned the hard way not to touch Nicholas when he was in a state like this.

Acanthus looks at me like someone who's woken up from a nightmare, "Can't it just all go away?"

I know what he means, the memories. He holds a bottle in his hands, still unopened. When he sees me looking at it, he hands it to me. "I wasn't going to drink it. I just…I need to see it, I need to able to see it and not do it. But it would be so easy…to drink until I remembered nothing."

I take the bottle from his hand gently, "If you remembered nothing, you wouldn't remember Eve. You wouldn't remember the only person you've ever loved. You can wish it all away, but you'd lose those good moments too." I hand the bottle back, "It's the only reason why I don't drown myself in all the time. I'd forget them…and if I don't remember them, no one well. They deserve to be remembered."

"And Snow would win," he says taking the bottle from me and smashing on the ground.

"Can't let that happen, now can we?" I raise an eyebrow at him.

"I still want to burn down the house…but somehow I think he'd like that." He sighs. His hand fumble in his pocked and bring out the wooden horse Eve had carried.

I remember when I saw the bodies, bloated and distorted with water and wide open eyes, the horror of them. And as much as I tried, by the time I got to see them, I couldn't make their eye close. Finnick had finally wrapped a blindfold around them.

I went through their pockets, the odds and ends they carried. The contents of the pockets were all that was left of them. I didn't know them that well, and these pockets would be one of the few things that I would learn about them.

Caine's pocket had one soggy photograph of him and his girl. Nothing romantic, something he'd cut out of the paper when they'd take a group shot or something. There were words carefully put on the back. The day I met you.

So it was hers, and it would go back to her now. The rest of the contents of his pocket weren't much—bits of string and wood fashioned into a weapon, and a small delicately woven piece of vine—a ring. A hope to make it home, and also a a sorrow knowing that Eve would die if he did. But he was the kind of guy to give it anyways, they'd probably made another of their pacts.

Eves pockets were different, each folded parachute was in there. The bits of st ring saved. But the horse was in her clutched hands, as if even in death she couldn't let go of Acanthus.

It had taken both Finnick and I to pry it out, and we'd broken a finger or two to do so. The contents of their pockets were so small, so very little carried in them—but they carried so much more. They carried the burden of knowing they would have to kill each other if it came to that, the rage at the Capitol, the heartache if they failed…They carried a feeling of damnation. If they believed in God, they probably questioned it—probably wondered if he even looked at Panem anymore?

Those were the things they carried, and some of them would go on after death. But some of the things were passed on to the ones who loved them. The burden of loss, it was heavy like a pack made for a much larger person. You had to struggle under the wait of or fall to your knees. On your knees it was much harder to get up.

And here was Acanthus, down on his knees—the weight too heavy for him to bear. I couldn't take another minute of it, I walked away leaving him there and went into my house slamming the door.

My mind reeled, anger flashed coarse and hot. I grabbed a book and slung it across the room so hard it made a dent in the plaster. Then as if someone else were inside my body, I knew what to do. I went upstairs and found some expensive shirts before rummaging through cabinets and doors.

I hurried back to Acanthus and set the stuff down as he looked at me. I pried the bottles of vodka open, five of them. I took a swig of the burning liquid before dumping a whole bottle over the odds and ends of capitol clothing.

"What are you doing?" Acanthus looks bemused, but still a little dead in the eyes.

I shove the cloth into the liquid and some of it sloshes over. I take out a lighter and light the shirt on fire, and it burses into brighter flames as it consumes the flames. "Maltov Cocktail, throw it unless you want to loss your fingers idiot."

For a moment he looks at the bottle, before he throws it hard to the front porch of his house. The bottle break ands the flaming liquid spreads and starts to eat up the wood of the house. Another bottle lands on the roof, lighting it up harder. Another at the back of the house and another at the roof.

His eyes are bright with malice as we both sit down in front of house watching. "So what do we do now, run?"

"No," I smile fiendishly. "We sit here and watch it burn."

"Won't they arrest us?"

"Hmmm, but what are they going to do with us?" I laugh. Because there's not much they can do really. "Beat us, kill us? It's just a little fire." The flames shoot up almost as if by command and the roof collapses in as peacekeepers rush into the area to put out the flames.

"What happened?" The Peacekeeper glares at us.

"Drinking accident," Acanthus lays back to watch it burn.

"Yeah, we didn't have enough booze to do it proper," I laugh. "Now be a dear and get us some more so we can finish the job."

"You did this on purpose?" He looks livid.

"Are you slow? Do I have to spell it out for you?"

Acanthus yawns, "Don't he probably can't spell."

The Peacekeeper has lost his patience with us, and he's about to say something when Nicholas strides up. He's got that vacant look on his face. The peacekeeper steps back involuntarily, but Nicholas sees blood in the water. "What's this?"

"He was just about to say something to us," I let on."

The Peacekeeper looks striken as Nicholas levels his gaze on him, "I—Well, they have to be brought in for setting the fire."

Nicholas looks like he's just noticed the blaze, "That's not necessary. Acanthus can stay with us."

"That's now what I mean sir," the peacekeeper interrupts.

"Thank you but that will be all, up children." He motions to the both of us. "You should be more careful with fire."

"Wait, they did it on purpose." The Peacekeeper steps forward, halting us.

"So I take it that you want to take them to jail?" The Peacekeeper nods. "Well then, go on. I'll call Mr. Raven Decroix and Ms. Delainey Chamberlain to let them know."

"What for?" The guard stutters.

"Well, they both donated quite a good bit of money to helping them win, I'm sure they'd like to know what their patronage's are being accused of. Mr. Decroix will probably come right down to settle the matter."

The way he said settle the matter was evident in it's meaning. It would have been the same if he had said, see who is going to pay for bothering her.

"I'm sure that's not necessary, sir."

"It is necessary if they are going with you," his gaze has turned icy. "So are they going with you?"

"I think we have all the information we need."

"Yes, quite a tragic accident. Most unfortunate he lost alot of his things. Now do come along children."

He waves at us, and for a moment I'm not quite sure how much of it is an act and how much is real. Is he that off-kilter?

Everyone is obviously afraid of him, had he done something here that I didn't know about? Was there something else of his story that I didn't know?

Sitting down in his kitchen, sipping coffee—I notice the distant look in his eyes as if some memory is tormenting him today. I open my mouth to ask, but Haemon shakes his head at me and I close it.

What did Nicholas do?


	105. The Dead

**Got a little surprise for you guys, 24 will be back up soon. The applications are open, new chapter should be out before the 1st. I've got one or two things in the background I have working on. One of those is something I want to talk to you guys about now.**

**I've been working on this piece from Raven's POV for awhile. Just bits and pieces, jotting down ideas. It's Raven's views on a critical moment-how we get to that moment will remain a mystery to you guys for now. But the point is, the piece is meant to be released later on when the accompanying chapter of Phoenix is posted-however, I've been asked by the Fandom 4LLS to donate a piece. **

**If you don't know what they do over there, you really should check it out! The link will be in my profile. **

**I'll release more information on it very soon, probably in the next update, which will be sometime this week. Once I get a few things at 24 chilled out, then I should be able to update a little more often!**

**The official synopsis for Raven's untitled one-shot is this: Raven DeCroix, Johanna Mason's lover and sponsor, reflects on how he came to love and lose her on the morning of the Quarter Quell. **

**AND last but not least, in celebration of my 1000 review on Phoenix *HAPPY DANCE* I'm allowing the 1000 reviewer to ask me a question about the Phoenix story that they want answered. I will answer it to the best of my ability as long as it does not give too much away. Everyone else can ask a few questions if they like, and I'll try to pick two-three more story related questions to answer!**

_ "It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."_

_The Dead by James Joyce_

_"The evidence of how deep love can run and how long loss can last." _

_Beautiful Darkness_

The beginning of winter is harsh and bitter, a sign of what to expect ahead. The snow falls thickly, coating everything in it's pure blanket of white.

And we've not heard one word of what the Rebellion wants us to do.

It's like they've forgotten about us, like we're not even useful anymore.

I look out of my window towards the frosted over ruins of Acanthus' house. How quiet it seems, how peaceful…and it had tortured him so much. I look around my own house, the furniture made during long boring hours, the broken plaster from things thrown—and the bare walls that don't hold a single photo.

My eyes drift to the phone, knowing that soon it will ring and Raven or Finnick will be on the line. They'll be saying how they miss me. Raven will ask when can I come back? He'll ask about Acanthus, and I'll hear the sadness in his voice—the urgency and the need. It almost cripples me every time.

Finnick will check in about Acanthus, letting us know that things are well there. That he hopes to see me soon. I can hear the worry in his voice, and the same question we all wonder: Will Acanthus be presentable for his tour?

None of us had realized how much his drinking was masking his night terrors, or frankly, how much he was drinking. Weight fell off him quickly, and his appetite struggled. Night after night, he tossed and turned in feverish dazes. There were days when he didn't sleep. There were nights that he screamed so loudly that we had to hold him down.

It took all of us to weather the storm.

Last night was the first time that Acanthus slept without screaming. Every light in his room had to be on, and still as I had taken my shift watching him—I could hear him whispering her name over and over.

"Eve."

Thoughts of her chilled me, brought back my own nightmares. Sometimes, I dreamed that she was holding me under, telling me it was "only fair." Other times, she begged me to watch her brother.

But those weren't even the worse ones. Sometimes there would be nothing but darkness and cold. I would shiver and shake in the woods while Riley, Eve and Acanthus stood there without speaking a word.

The absence of his dreams had brought on mine. But just before waking, I would feel the gentle pressure of a hand in mine, feel kind eyes looking at me.

Good luck.

I take another sip of my coffee, carefully imagining the face of the avox again. It's been so long since I thought of him or dreamed of him, but the impression is still there. Somehow he never leaves me. Big brown eyes that keep following me everywhere I go.

I wonder again if he's safe. If he still serves somewhere or if he's dead? If Snow knew how much he meant to me, I know he would be. Not even Raven knows, though possibly he could save him if he did. But to me, it's not worth the risk.

The night falls and the temperature drops quickly. I throw another log on the fire, but I'm too restless to sit. I pull on my cloak and take the long walk to the graveyard.

I dust the snow off Liam's grave, and think of the last times I saw him. Remembering how he grew up so quickly, remembering the dead feeling in my chest when they called his name. I remember the overwhelming ache, the urge to run up and stop him from going.

But he had looked back at me, and I couldn't move. I couldn't make a scene. I saw the finality in his eyes. I remember the promise on his lips, a vow he intended to keep but couldn't.

I moved through the crosses, visiting Wren again, and the moving to the commons graveyard. The graves packed so tightly together that you couldn't help but step on them. It took awhile to find Sven and Greta's. One small grave, shared between them. I can feel the tears stinging my eyes, the trails of tears freezing on my face.

I don't know why I'm torturing myself like this, why I'm even out here to begin with. My grandmother's grave is less painful, she at least died naturally. I move on from her and I find Ivan's.

I smooth the snow off of his cross and I wonder, as I often have, if he knew how much I loved him? If he knew that I would have died to save him given the choice? That despite the years, despite Raven, despite everything that had happened or would ever happen—that I would love him till the day I died. In some way, at least. I would love him.

Something catches my eye, and I look across the graveyard. Far in the back, I see something moving—a dark shadow across the snow. I move after it, curious. No one comes to the graveyard this late.

I follow behind the figure,watching as it moves to the older section of graves. This section is from about twenty years ago.

I watch as the figure stops,but I don't. As I get closer, I recognize the familiarity in the stance, in the movement, and in the manner. It's Haemon.

I move up behind him, but he already knows I'm there—I can tell in the way his shoulders tense for a moment. His head is bare, and the soft white down of his hair is thin. The bald spot on the back of his head crusts with snow as the wispy strands blow in the wind. His coat is open and his scarf is wrapped tightly around his neck.

"You'll catch a cold, Haemon." I move up to his side and look down at him. He's frail now, his arthritic hands clutching a small cane as he stands there. He barely comes to the bottom of my shoulder. I don't know how much of it is shrinking from age, and how much is just him. He was always small, and burly. But old age took the muscle away, until it left this weathered old man who looked as if he should blow away in a snowstorm.

But it's as if he doesn't hear me, "I had to see her today." He pauses stooping to scrap off the snow on the cross.

"Why?" The words are mostly drowned out, but he hears it or maybe he just expects it.

"When I came back to the games, she threw her arms around me. She greeted me home so warmly, but I was changed. I had found out what happens to people you care for. I distanced myself from her as best I could, barely speaking to her for two and a half years." He shivers a little and then looks at his watch. "It's 9:31 PM," he looks back down at her grave. "That's the last time I spoke to her, fifty-three years ago."

I don't say a word, I can see the pain etched into him. I don't have to ask to know how much he loved her. The words spill out of his mouth, "It was like she was dead. But there was no cross or burial plot to mourn her at. It was like her ghost was walking around tormenting me, and I had to act like she wasn't there. She thought I hated her, she thought that I loved someone else."

_And none of that was true. I loved only her._

The unsaid words hung on the air, but there really was no point in saying them. I understood. He had pushed her away for her own good, he had tore out little pieces of himself to make sure she was okay.

I look down at her name, Reece, carved into the cross. I wonder if it was by his hand or the hand of someone else she had come to love? I imagine them standing there, her shouting at him and Haemon pretending as if she didn't exist. I remember Ivan leaving, I remember how shattered I was.

And Haemon had done it himself, he had pushed her away so that she would be safe. I look at the bent old man that he is, and watch as he stares at her cross as if he's summoning some image of her from beyond time and space. Maybe he's thinking of happier times, maybe he's thinking of those last horrible moments, or maybe he's thinking of what could have happened.

But all he says is, "It's cold out. We should go," and just like that, Haemon closed the door of our conversation. In the years I had known him, I had never known of this.

Then I began to realize how little I knew about him or the other Victors. They knew almost every intimate detail of my life, but I knew next to nothing about them.

Haemon stomped on the mat as we walked into his house. It was warm and dark, the heat making me shed a layer immediately. But Haemon moved with precision over to the mantel and picked up a pack of cigarettes.

"You smoke?" I'd never seen Haemon smoke in my life.

"When the time is right," he sat down nodding to Acanthus, who looked confused just like I was.

Haemon lit the cigarette, and took a long slow drag before blowing out a perfect circle. "Can't stand smoke," he says holding the long drag between his fingers.

"Then—"

"We don't have much time," he motions with the cigarette. "It's a signal for Beetee to cut the feed, and to use his voice mimicry device to change what we're saying. So if you'll just sit over there, and Acanthus you stay where you are." He points me to the piano seat beside Nicholas. "Then no one can read your lips."

He flicks off a little ash and then brings the cigarette back up to his lips. "The Rebellion's sent us all something to do for the Victory Tour, so we best be talking about it."

The news hits me like a ton of bricks. How long have they been with the Rebellion? Why hadn't the mentioned it to me before? I knew that Blight knew…But the others?

"How long?"

Haemon let's out a coarse little laugh as he takes another drag, "Forty-five years darling."


	106. Rebellious Orders

_Will Raven find out Johanna is in the Rebellion/join the Rebellion?_

_Yes. As to when he does or how or if he already knows, THAT is another question._

_What happens to Johanna and Raven? Does he live? Do they have a happily ever after?_

_But this is actually a question I cannot answer. His status post Catching Fire is officially a "?"_

_It will be answered eventually though. It is already determined and nothing will change the fate that has been predetermined for him._

_Will we hear any mention of the cast of Districts of Rebellion in The Phoenix series?_

_YES! Actually in this chapter LOL I had already written it when you asked._

_Poll on my page!_

_Just got out of the hospital was in from Tuesday till late Friday. Still feel like crap warmed over. The only reason this is up already si because it waas all written except for the last paragraph._

_**Patience is never a waste of time, when your time finally comes then youll realize that it worth the wait, and you will credit yourself, that you couldnt have made any better choice than to wait after all.**_

_** Blaze Olamiday **_

I can't believe the words. "Fourty-five years?" My voice rises and I start to get up.

"Sit," Haemon's voice is forceful. "If you move they'll be able to read your lips." He takes another long drag, "I told Beetee we'd need more time."

Ivan shrugs his shoulders, "He'll give the signal if he can't manage."

"Go ahead, ask your questions," Nicholas sighs and leans back. "It'll be easier to answer them now.

My head spins and I grip the piano seat tightly, "Do you mean that for forty-five years you've been working for the Rebellion or for District 13?" It feels so odd to be speaking freely.

Adam scratches his neck. "Yes."

"Yes, what?" Acanthus looks floored.

"To both."

"And why hasn't anything happened yet?" I can feel my anger rising, my fists clenching as they remind me to stay seated in shadows. "Why have they let us starve? Why have they let us go to the Hunger Games for years and done nothing?"

"Because we took it," Haemon lights another cigarette but it burns absently in his fingers. "Back after the first Games, there was a Rebellion—but the Districts didn't stick together. District 12 rebelled and they waited for help that never came. The other districts gave up, before they started."

Adam chimes in, "We rolled over like a bi-"

Igor cuts in over him, "And they were defeated and treated worse than any other district. So it's essential that this time around we all come together. We can't think of ourselves as separate anymore. We can't think of district seven's and three's and how we killed each other in the games. That's what the Capitol wants us to do, they want us to be at each other's throat."

"If you're saying I've got to love Enobaria then I'm out," Acanthus chimes in.

Nicholas laughs, "No. But she's to be left out of it. She's got a son about your age Acanthus, and she won't risk the Rebellion for him. She'll turn a blind eye to it, but she wants no involvement."

Even Enobaria knows. It makes my mind reel as they talk about how they were inducted, how at first they didn't believe it. But I interrupt, "And after all these years you're still waiting for it, aren't you?"

"Yes," Haemon flicks off some ash absentmindedly. "Yes, we're waiting for a catalyst, something that will set the whole thing in motion. And once it starts, not us, nor Panem, nor 13, nor Snow himself will be able to stop it."

Blight speaks, his voice haggard. "We thought it could be Finnick, but he was too young. Gloss and Cashmere…They were too concerned with keeping their families safe, you—you lost everything. You had enough following it could have been you, but you long let that flame flicker out."

"It wasn't for me, this defender of the poor, self-less act. Do you think anyone would buy it from me?" I shake my head wearily. "How are we going to find someone who actually feels like that?"

"We'll take what we can get. But it's going to happen soon. Within the next five games, we'll have to mark someone as a catalyst."

"And what if there's no one amongst them that can do it?" I question.

"Then we mold them," Nicholas states.

"And what if they aren't pliable?" I question.

Nicholas slams his down in anger, real honest anger. "God Johanna! Are you so determined it's not going to work?" His face is livid, the colour is all splotches and there's a light in his eyes I've only seen once or twice.

"She's not the enemy Nichoas," Blight's voice is soft. The words break over Nicholas for a moment, and his face pales and pales, and then when I thought it was as pale as it could get—it still paled more.

Silently, he rises and he walks off into the night without a coat or hat. Swirls of snow land in the hall, quickly melting. No one goes after him.

I start to rise, but Igor stops me. "Let him be, he needs space right now. Tonight is full of memories."

Suddenly the room is hot and full. I realize it's not just my own ghosts that are here tonight, but theirs too. The looks on their faces say it all. How many Reese's were there? How many Eve's? How many Ivan's, Sven's, Greta's, and Liam's?

I close my eyes for a moment, not eager to look at any of them.

"Someone will come, someone will do something pure and noble—"

"And no one has yet," I let out a sigh.

The room falls silent.

"Johanna," Haemon folds his hands together. "Someone will do something, with good intentions—something that isn't even meant to be an act of Rebellion by them. But it will cause a spark, and that spark will catch light and all of Panem will burn with it."

"And what of that person?" I ask.

"Whatever their intentions had been, they won't be able to stop it once it's started. They'll be swept away by the tide."

"Swept under," Acanthus voice breaks.

And that's the truth of it. We're not waiting for some hero to come to lead the masses, we're waiting until someone does something heartfelt and sincere, something normal that we can whip into a frenzy.

"So what are we supposed to do? Get the pitchforks and warm up the crowds?"

Acanthus stares at his hands, "You haven't been to town lately Johanna. They're right." He speaks slowly, "If all the Districts are like 7, then they're straw waiting to burn. You haven't seen them. You haven't seen how angry they are, how ready for change—how much they hate these games."

"It's 74 years of anger," Haemon says sadly. "It's coming to a head." He flicks some ash off a his cigarette. "I wish Emera could see it."

"Who?"

"The last poor Rebel." He says her name with reverence, as if she was the last of a cause or a breed. I don't ask him anything else. I can see the far away look in his eyes and know that answers won't be forthcoming.

"So some poor sap is going to be a martyr for our cause?"

"Someone has to be," Adam says. "The proverbial lamb come for slaughter."

"Poor sap," I say again.

"Enough pity parties," Haemon lights another cigarette. "We've got orders."

"When they say jump—" I start.

"How high," finishes Haemon. "Yes, because they're willing to help and we need them. Not matter how long they've made us wait." He taps the table with his hand. "This girl Delainey Chamberlain. She wants a baby with you."

"Don't remind me," Acanthus lets out a huff.

"Don't worry, she's young and pretty," Haemon silences Acanthus again before continuing. "She's about seventeen. Quiet, a little shy. She's a society darling. Her father owns an Empire, Chamberlain Electricty."

"The Chamberlain?" The name clicks into place in my head.

"That's the one." He flicks off more ash without smoking, "He's very sick. Needs a grandchild so they can do some DNA thingy to save him from dying. So naturally, he buys himself a victor so he can have a proper grandchild. But that's besides the point, the girl is sweet—and pays no attention to his affairs. Absentminded when flustered. You're to replace a series of her belongings with duplicates Acanthus. Make sure to get her flustered when she's going home, the more flustered she is the more she leaves her clutch on a table or her earring on a desk where her father carries on bussiness meetings. The bugs will be on them."

"That's all well and good, but what about us?" I snark, "Unless we're all sleeping with Delainey Chamberlain?"

Adam sighs in exasperation, but Blight picks up. "Johanna, you'll be giving Raven a gift with the same kind of listening devices in it. You'll also be installing one in his belts or anything else of the like."

"What about you guys?" I ask not sure I want to know who they're sleeping with.

"We have…"He pauses, "We have different kinds of jobs. Some of them years in the making. And we'll make sure that you both have alibis at the time, in case, something happens."

"What are you doing?" Acanthus questions.

But Blight goes on as if he never spoke. "On the night of the party, we'll need to pull of something quite difficult. There will be a party guest there that has some important data on them. One of the other Victors planted the device weeks ago, but has not been invited back. The information is time crucial, so drastic measure have to be taken."

Blight take a sip of some hot coffee, "The man, Crawford Chase slept with Belvedere. You know her Johanna, don't you?"

I nod, "I brought her in."

"Well, she planted a cuff link, and we need it back. We're supposed to create a big enough distraction for her to get it back. Whatever it takes."

I smile, "I like the sound of that."

Even though the talk concluded days ago, I still replay the words in my head over and over again. The snow has fallen heavier on District 7, and Nicholas stayed away for four days before he came back. He was gaunt and disheveled when Igor got him in front of the fire.

He slept for three days.

I wait at the train station, thinking of how I'd have to work with Belvedere without ever getting to talk to her before. We'd have to play off of each other, wary of the cameras. Every Victor in the Rebellion was going to make a move to help if it came to it. This information was that important.

The package arrives and I stomp back through the snow as Acanthus prep team comes with me, chattering the whole way. They're here to start getting him ready for his tour—they need to get final measurements.

They profess they're condolences on his house and chatter on about things I could care less about. Acanthus endures them as they take measurements and talk about the state he's in. They lament his weight loss, and how he sorry they are for him having had a bad bout of the flu—because the truth is ours alone.

They stay for a day or two, and then go back promising to see him in a week for the Victory Tour. Acanthus is shaking by the time they leave, "What I wouldn't give for a drink."

I push him a box, "Maybe this will help."

He looks at it in confusion, and opens the lid. For a moment, he's stunned and he can only stare. The tears fill his eyes so quickly that he's blinded by them. "Why?" His voice is pained as he asks.

"Your sister told me about the token," I whisper it. "I know she celebrated Christmas with you at least once. And I thought that maybe you should have this."

He lifts the picture out of the box, fingering the glass frame as if he could touch her face through it. The picture is one that I asked Raven to send me from her training days—a photo snapped by the reporters for publicity. She's standing there, her head turned almost as if she's looking into the camera, her eyes are bright and her lips are parted in a smile. She's leaning on an axe, everything calm and relaxed about her.

I remember the scene, her brightness as she talked with Caine. And for a moment, she's more than flesh and blood, more alive than anything. I look at her, and the ache I feel for her loss can be nothing compared to Acanthus.

"I thought you should have a photo, I know you didn't have one." I turn my head away.

He clutches the frame like a lifeline, as if it is his crutch and salvation. No words escape his lips as he keeps staring at her intently.

I rise up and make my way to the door, "Merry Christmas Acanthus." I slip out the back door and head home.


	107. Repurcussions

Sorry this took so long, honestly…I had a good old fashioned case of writer's block. And writer's block with Johanna consists of her hurling heavy things at you and telling you how pathetic you are. But finally, here it is!

And I'm still intending to do 13 weeks of Rebellion—A few "special things" happening between August 23(my bday) and Quarter Quell day XD. Which is 13 weeks exactly.

Also, I have a piece that's going into the Fandom4LLS. Check them out! You can get the piece (Raven's thought of Johanna as she's about to launch for the Quell, told from his perspective and detailing the relationship from his side of things). It will be available on Sept 1. You have to donate to get it that soon though. If not, it will not be published on here until AT LEAST December.

I proudly support this cause. My father is a 2 time cancer survivor—kidney at 33, and then Lymphoma in my first year of college. The donation money goes DIRECTLY to the cancer societies, you just need to show the Fandom4LLS your receipt to get a perk. But well, you can go read about it on their website! What are you waiting for?

Next update will be soon (it's already written since I banged this chapter and it out in one sitting). So between Sat and Wed is the next update.

Love you guys!

_**I am a creature of grief and dust and bitter longings. There is an empty place within me where my heart was once." ― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones**_

I hug the heavy fur jacket to myself as we bid our farewells to District five. But it isn't long that we're on the train before it rockets off, and the heat makes me shed the jacket Raven had sent me.

Each of us make our sad little way to the table, and Acanthus sits there glaring at the bottle of wine as if his life depends on it. A server comes in, and I can't help but to look at his eyes and hands. Not him.

"Take the alcohol away," he hastily removes it from the table though I'm dying for a shot of whiskey to get the cold out of my bones.

"You've done well," Blight is gaunt and tired.

Acanthus shrugs and closes his eyes, but Blight continues. "We have something for you," he takes out a package wrapped in paper.

Acanthus looks at the package, dawning comprehension on his face. "You remembered," his voice sounds remarkably child-like.

It's a custom from Seven that the first birthday after your last reaping, you are given special gifts—all other birthdays, pass without much fanfare. But this one is different—you survived. For a Victor, it's even more paramount.

He opens the gift from Blight, which is from all of them—Nicholas, Blight, Haemon, Adam, and Igor. All of them had come with us.

He unwraps the paper and finds a handsomely made telescope. "For when you can't sleep, so you can study the stars." Nicholas smiles, he looks even tireder than Blight.

I hand him a small package, and he tears it open. He pulls out the long chain and at the end of it his token, the gift that his sister had given him. It's wrapped around with wire to secure it to the necklace. His fingers glide over it, and he doesn't speak.

He slips the necklace around his neck, and doesn't say a word. Not a thanks, not anything—he's speechless. Before long, he gets up and leaves.

Blight looks after him, "Do you think he'll be okay?"

"I think he's as good can be expected," I watch him fade away to his room. It's not long before the rest of them leave, mumbling excuses or just walking out.

I get a bottle of vodka and go and sit in front of the TV, not even bothering with a glass. Lately, the nightmares have been terrible—worse than ever in some ways. I'm not eager to go to sleep until I've had a few stiff drinks.

I drink until my throat burns and eyes sting, coughing I pull it away from my mouth and settle into the cushions of the couch.

Most of the trip had passed without fanfare. Twelve had been boring to say the least, the only thing notable was that two blonde heads were over on the lower class side—Seam, I think they call it. With them was a girl, about Acanthus age with cool grey eyes and fierce hard lines. She didn't even stop glowering at me, when I looked at her.

Eleven, Ten, Nine, Eight, Six and Five were much all the same. Endless faces in the cold, grey days. No one important.

The day dawns after my sleepless night. I shower and dress, shrugging on my heavy fur coat as we make our way into District 4. I leave Acanthus to fend for himself as I make my way through the district to Finnick's home.

It's cold here, bitter cold—but there's no snow. The chill comes straight from the water. The fur keeps me covered as I walk into the center of Victor's Village in Four.

It's nothing like ours. Even with our seven victors, only two houses are inhabited. Here though, many houses glow with warmth and welcome. I know Coral and her nephew Wyatt don't inhabit the same house, they could barely tolerate each other the last time I saw them. Mags keeps her own place, and most of them here do live independently. But not Annie, she lives with Mags or Finnick.

I walk down the street and find the door that I know to be Finnick's. I knock lightly, and the door opens quickly. Wild eyes look at me—sea green like Finnick's, before she pulls away. She remembers me. The last time I met her, I'd asked her what it felt like winning with Triton's head in her lap. I had to make her scream, had to break her from the fragile hold on reality so she could escape the buying and selling.

But it still hurts me when I watch her burst into tears. I hear running footsteps, and Finnick is there to cradle her. "What's wrong?" He looks up to see me. And he's confused and shocked.

I push by him, "She remembers the last time we met." I don't explain anymore.

I move into the kitchen and sit down, waiting. I can hear him calming her and soothing her. I hear him tell her that I'm not anyone to be afraid of. That I'm okay, but when he comes into the room she doesn't come with him.

He pulls me up into his arms, and he holds me so tightly that I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be held like this. He held me as if I was the only thing in this world that kept him tethered.

When I look up into his eyes, and stroke his face I can see the tired lines, the ache of pain in his eyes. "She hasn't been doing too well, I'm scared what's going to happen to her. And…if something happened to me."

I shake him a little, "I'd take care of her Finnick. I'd make her come around, whatever it cost me. I'd help her."

He kisses my forehead lightly. "Do I even want to know why she's so terrified of you?"

"No," I whisper. "I only did what I had to."

"Okay," he lets it go easily. And his thumb rubs over my cheekbone and he tilts my chin up so that I'm looking him in the eye. "Jo…I know…"

He lets the words drift off, and I feel tears spilling from my eyes. "I never wanted you too, Fin. I wanted to keep it from you." I never wanted him to know how much of a part I had played in her winning. I wanted to keep it to myself. But now he knows, maybe not all of it—maybe not the entirety, but he knows my hand was in it.

"What did it…" he closes his eyes and starts over. "What did it cost you?"

Everything. "Nothing I wouldn't give again. A thousand times over, I'd do it again. Finnick, I don't want to talk about this."

He smiles at me, and I can see the tears spilling out of his eyes now. "Jo, you beautiful noble creature."

I laugh, "I'm not noble at all."

"You're the only one that could say that. You don't know how…amazing you are."

"I do," I shoot back. "I pride myself on my conceit."

"Let's not talk about who's prettier, you'll never win against me." And like that the serious moment is gone, faded into ether.

After some time, Annie does come around to me. But she looks at me warily as if I might lunge and bite her. But more and more as the night goes on, as Finnick and I talk easily, I see her open up like a flower in sunshine. I see the adoring looks he gives her, the same ones that she beams back at him. He is her everything, and so gently he pulls her out of herself that she doesn't even realize it.

Later when he goes to get a picture to show me of Annie and him right after they met, she sits and stares at me for a moment. Slowly, she comes to me like she's drifting through a dream. Her hair is tossled, her eyes are bright and shining, a little less wild than before. She floats to me and grips my hand tightly, and I don't know what to say to her.

But she squeezes my hand tightly, "You love him too." Her voice is soft, almost less than a whisper.

"He's my best friend," I say gently.

"He needs you," she sits down beside me and leans against me. I find my fingers running through her hair like a child's.

"He needs you more Annie, you have to stay…stay for him."

"I try," she says so gently. "I try so much. But when he's gone…" She breaks off. "I can't go with him, but you can. You'll take care of him?"

She looks up at me with those wide eyes, and for the moment her eyes are clear not troubled but yearning.

"We've always taken care of each other, it's all we know how to do." I pause, my fingers running through her hair. She snuggles to me, the troubles between us forgotten or forgiven.

When we leave the District, Mags comes to Finnick's house to stay with Annie. She doesn't come downstairs with Finnick, who's coming to the Capitol with Wyatt and Coral, and the rest of us from seven. And it's only when I look back that I see the sunlight glinting on the window of the bedroom of Finnick's house. Annie is poised there, her hair bedraggled and tears staining her cheek.

I turn away from it, and pull Finnick closer to me. I can't protect him from the things to come in the Capitol, but I can help him through it.


	108. The Wicked

The Fandom4LLS now has my piece, a one shot featuring Raven on the morning of the Quarter Quell-and how he love and lost Johanna Mason.

Here is an excerpt from the one-shot entitled "Between Us":

_Heavensbee sighed, "None of them are coming out."_

_I stopped abruptly from leaving, "What did you say?"_

_"There's going to be a Games, Raven." He looked at me with pity._

_"There's always a game Plutrarch," I said in exasperation._

_"This time they're reaping the past winners, all because of that Everdeen girl." He sighed, "What a game! What a waste..." He looked at me. I was frozen to the spot. "There's only one female winner from District Seven Raven, and that's Johanna. And Snow doesn't mean for her to come out. He can't control her anymore. That Everdeen and Mellark pair have started something. And if the winners aren't the ones he wants, he'll probably kill them too." I sat down heavily and buried my face in my hands. "There's no way out, Raven. You're going to lose her."_

**Please check out on the fandom4lls website how you can access this piece early. I will NOT be publishing it on here until at least December of this year.**

**And now the chapter: Enjoy loves!**

**_Oh, there ain't no rest for the wicked, _**  
><strong><em>Money don't grow on trees, <em>**  
><strong><em>I got bills to pay, <em>**  
><strong><em>I got mouths to feed, <em>**  
><strong><em>There ain't nothing in this world for free.<em>**  
><strong><em>Oh no I can't slow down, <em>**  
><strong><em>I can't hold back<em>**  
><strong><em>Though you know, I wish, I could, <em>**  
><strong><em>Oh no there ain't no rest for the wicked, <em>**  
><strong><em>Until we close our eyes for good.<em>**

**_No Rest for the Wicked, Cage the Elephants_**

I hold Finnick close as the train rocks on the tracks, taking us closer to the Capitol. Yesterday, we had been in District Two, and it was like a ghost had walked in to the party. I had felt all the blood leave my face, and my arms and legs felt like jelly.

But it couldn't be him.

Harris was dead.

But as he got closer, the resemblance faded a little, he was taller and more brooding. There was something about him that seemed…darker than Harris. It wasn't until a minute or two later, when he delivered a message that I realized I'd seen him before—Cato, Harris' younger brother, the one I had given his coin to during my Victory Tour.

The rest of the night hadn't passed quick enough. I spent an hour in the bathroom on the train, gritting my teeth and trying not to throw up. Finnick had finally curled up with me on the cold floor as I sobbed myself to sleep.

But tonight was different. It was Finnick's turn for nightmares. He had awoken screaming and thrashing wildly. Others had come to help, but I'd sent them away—I didn't want them to see him like this. This was ours, it was another part of protecting each other.

He had pulled himself into a small ball, hugging his knees and resting his chin there, rocking back and forth taking great shuddering breaths. Gently, I had pulled him to me and held him until slowly he unwound and wrapped himself around me.

We didn't talk. The only sound was of my rhythmic breaths and his erratic ones. And even now, hours later after he finally fell asleep, I can see the flickering movement beneath his eyelids and feel his frenzied and panicked movements as nightmare after nightmare passes over him.

I hold him close and whisper, talking about anything I can think about. Saying words in a low soothing tone, until they've lost all meaning even to me. It's my presence and the sound of someone else being there that soothes him. And he calls for Annie, desperate and frightened, time after time. I hold him closer, tell him she's fine. He doesn't have to worry. I won't let anything happen to her.

When the dawn comes, I've barely slept. I can feel the heavy pull of sleep and fatigue on my body. I can see it on Finnick's too, even though he slept—some.

We ply ourselves with coffee and sit together warming ourselves with hot cups.

When the train arrives, we're dressed in better clothes—stylish but suited to the cold snowy weather. He laughs and loops his arm with mine as cameras flash and flash. I scowl at each of them, and then I see him.

Raven.

Finnick drops my arm, and my feet are digging into snow as I launch myself into Raven's outstretched arms. We collide with force, but he keeps his balance, kissing me fiercely. I can feel the power of his body trembling with restraint.

All of the Capitol, all the flash of bulbs, fades away as I melt into him. The long months of absence have taken a toll on us, and I can feel my body responding. My fingers want to undo his buttons, pull off all his clothes and let myself come undone. I pull away from him, and he whispers into my ears. "If it wasn't for these photographers, I'd have you already."

I can feel the flush of heat emanating from the core of my being and out as he speaks, and I cover his mouth with another long, lingering kiss.

And somehow, in a way I can't explain, we're finally away from the photographers and in Raven's limo. I can't even explain how we make it from the car into his house or up the stairs. All I know is that the feel of him is so right. I hadn't realized how much I missed this, how much I missed him.

He layers my neck and shoulders with kisses, and I feel my eyes roll back in my head as we come undone together.

We collapse to the bed together, panting and sweating. My skin glides along his so easily, and my lips find his again and we aren't satiated, not in the least.

It's mid-morning when I wake up and carefully disentangle myself from the bed. Carefully, I grab up my bag and dig through the contents with as little noise as possible. I take out the cufflinks and replace the ones in his nightstand drawer, dropping the old ones back in my luggage. I take his belt and retreat to the bathroom. It takes a bit, but I change out the buckles. Luckily, Raven always uses the same pair of cufflinks and same belt most of the time. They were his fathers'.

I know sometime when I'm alone, I'll have to dispose of the pieces…and I hate it, hate that I'm destroying a part of his past—but I can't help it.

I crawl back in bed next to him and act like I never left.

Raven does up the back of my dress with it's archaic buttons from the base of my hairline to just above my hips. His fingers make me shiver, and his hot breath makes me want to take off these clothes and stay home. If it wasn't that this was the night, I would.

My hair is tightly woven up, and my chandelier earrings drip down to almost my shoulders. Though the dress comes high in the back, nothing else about it is conservative. The luxurious light brown comes up to the top of my breast in a dipping corset while the skirting is loose and sweeping. I wear nothing around my neck, not even the necklace Raven had given me.

My make-up is striking, natural colours except for the dark liner around my eyes and the vibrant red of my lips. I finger the rich fabric, and despite myself I love it.

The sun has long been down by the time we make it to the ball held in Acanthus' honour. I'm hyper-aware by the time we make our way in. The place drips with chandeliers and crystals. I see Acanthus smiling across the way, bypassing drinks and keeping his arm around this blond little thing. An older man stands a few feet away from her, and I know with a sickening lurch in my stomach that they're the Delainey's.

I look at them while Raven gets us two glasses of wine. I hate the taste of it, but it's socially acceptable and better than champagne. The girl is small and blond, with big pretty brown eyes. She's pretty in that petite, flat-chested kind of way.

Acanthus catches my eye, and I can see the pain in the lines around his eyes. I know how hard it is for him not to drink, how much he hates this…but I did it once, and he can do it.

I take a sip of the wine, and filter around with Raven for the evening, pretending as if nothing is strange, everything is absolutely normal. But nothing is normal. The clink of glasses grates on my nerves and the harsh laughter. I have to make an opening to bring this whole thing about.

I move my way across the room, as if I'm going for the drinks. Finnick jostles me right as I walk by Enobaria and Belvedere, who are flocked around Crawford Chase.

This is it.

I stumble slightly then say something half under my breath to Belvedere, "District one whore…"

Belvedere's face grows red with rage, "You bit-" Her hand yanks my shoulder back, and I come in with a punch. For a moment, Enobaria stands by, and then she's on me too.

I grip Enobaria's hair in my hands and yank out a handful as she screams. Her nails, as sharp as her teeth, dig into my flesh, and I cry out in anger as my fist finds her nose, showering us all with blood.

Belvedere pulls herself up and grabs my dress and uses it to throw me down. I scramble back up as I feel the fabric ripping, my hand grasping onto Crawford Chase's wrist as Belvedere lunges at me wildly.

As I fall, I feel the fabric of his sleeve rip and his cufflink bounces on the ground. I butt my head hard up into Belvedere and flip her onto the ground. I punch her again and again, and her head collides hard into the floor.

I feel strong arms wrap around my waist and lift me from Belvedere. I struggle violently against them, but I'm must too small to even have my feet reach the ground. The arms crush the breath out of me as whoever it is whispers, "Calm down…Calm down."

I let myself relax and take in the strong arms around me, the dark skin, and the way that one hand grips the wrist of the other arm—only there's no arm there. Chaff.

He let's me go, and I can feel everyone looking at me. Belvedere is up, her head bloody. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Finnick reaching down and then handing Crawford Chase his "dropped" cufflink. It worked.

I can feel my eye is swelling and the scratches on my arm and the blood pouring from my lip suddenly becomes apparent. I look down and see that my dress is ripped to the waist, exposing my topless body.

Without emotion, I rip the rest of the gown open and the soft brown fabric falls to the floor. I step out of it only in stilettos. They click across floor as I walk to Raven.

His face is incredulous and shocked as I walk to him naked across the room. When he offers me his jacket, I shrug into it nonchalantly and leave with him into the snowy night.


	109. I Survived the Arena, I Can Survive This

**Thanks for the reviews! Keep them coming. I will be starting a regular update schedule again. I hadn't decided on the days quite yet. For right now, I'm going to stick with Tuesday and Friday, I think. I may up it back to 3 times a week (Monday, Wednesday and Friday/Saturday) soon.**

**13 Weeks of Rebellion begins this Friday (my birthday-the big 25!)**

**Phoenix will be updated on Friday (it's already written as are more chapters) and the Prologue to Districts of Rebellion will be up on Friday, also. November 22, 2013-The release date for Catching Fire will be the release date for the first full chapter of Districts of Rebellion, which is the prequel to my very own Districts of Hunger. (Though you can read them in either order!)**

* * *

><p><strong><em>"One thing you have to realize from now on is that it doesn't matter if this is a dream or not. Survival depends on what you do, not what you think."<br>― Rebecca McKinsey, Anterria_**

I don't go home with the rest from Seven for the big homecoming. Acanthus comes to bid me goodbye, and I see how exhausted he is from the emotional onslaught of his tour. I stroke back the hair from his head as we sit in the library. His clear blue eyes look into mine.

It seems strange that not long ago he hated the very sight of me. And now, we have been brought together by a common bond. He's concerned with destroying them and not me. If we make it past all this, maybe we'll go back to hating each other.

I pull him to me and hold him close, though he's taller than me now. He lays his head on my shoulder like a child. I remember Eve doing this to Caine, and with a pang, me doing it to Liam. But now, I'm the strong one—the comforter, even though I hate the role and find no comfort myself.

With Raven, I am one of the few Victors who has a kind of security. But there's also a big target painted on me. I have the most to lose if I fall from grace. As much as I love Raven, as much as he hates the Games…If he ever finds out the things I've done, they'll kill me on live TV.

Shaking off the morbid thoughts, I push Acanthus away. "You're going to be fine. You'll be back here in a day or two." The Delainey girl's fertile days are coming up, so he'll back back here in the Capitol as soon as possible.

When Acanthus came this morning, he'd talked candidly of what it was like to take her virginity—how he felt sullied and dirty. How he hated the tender looks she gave him as if she was falling in love, and how very easy it had been to make love to her and even like her. And most of all, he hated himself for that.

I hadn't been able to tell him it gets better, because it doesn't. Instead, I'd shared my own experiences—the way I'd been choked, the way I'd been bought for a virgin, and the time I'd been beaten. I told him every lurid detail, and when I was done I told him one more honest truth.

"As Victors we have a saying, 'I survived the arena, I can survive this'."

He looks at me solemnly, and I give him his hat as he shrugs on his heavy coat and leaves.

"You'd make a great mother," Raven's voice surprises me.

"Don't start," I shut the door and walk past him to the kitchen.

"But you would," he insists, following after me.

"Raven," I warn him, turning on him with fury. "Enough."

I can see the pain in his eyes, the want…the longing. I turn away from him, unable to endure that gaze. Coward, I tell myself. If things were different, I'd like nothing more than to make him happy. But any child of mine would become a victim of the Games, or perhaps…a winner. I didn't know which would be worse. Either way, it's not something I'd ever allow.

It's not until I hear his footsteps in the hall, and the slamming of the door that I realize he's gone. I sink to the floor and bury my face in my hands.

Raven doesn't come home. For the first time in the years I've lived with him, I lay in the giant bed all alone. I toss and turn in the bed, gripping the sheets with my fist and gritting my teeth. Every time I start to fall asleep, I'm awakened by terrible dream after terrible dream.

Why had he left? Why didn't he understand what I felt? I couldn't…I couldn't…

And at some point, I fell asleep.

I'm in District 7, I know that, even though there isn't much to see. There's snow on the ground at my feet, and I'm barefoot. I shift back and forth on my icy feet—feeling frostbite setting in and the wind whipping through my thin shirt and pants. All around me the world is in fog.

I stand there shivering, not knowing what to do. This has to be a nightmare. Wake up! Wake up! I start screaming it out loud, but it just echoes back to me.

And then, I hear something that makes the hair on my arm stand on end. "Ms. Mason! Come out, come out wherever you are!" He laughs, and I feel myself running.

Snow.

I'm panting for breath, but his clear voice seems to be closer. I trip over something and go sprawling. My face is scraped and bleeding, I try to get up when I feel fingers fumbling at my ankle. It's Nicholas.

He's been blinded, and there's a huge hole in his stomach. As I push away from him, I watch as the roses grow in the hole of his stomach. My feet are so frozen that I can't stand up, so I begin crawling.

Next it's Acanthus' body I'm at. He's spitting out blood. "Run, Jo. Run…" He spits out a great glob of blood, and there are red petals where it was. I can't go on any further, so I cradle him in my lap. He's begging me to go, and each time he coughs up blood..it turns to red rose petals until all I can smell is blood and roses.

I hear his heavy tread as he comes close, and I look up to see Snow standing there. I'm freezing, and the snow flakes fall faster and faster, and with it, white rose petals fall down. I can smell the blood from his mouth, like he's drank it or something.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I scream at him.

"My dear Johanna, I'm not doing it. You are." He laughs as I look down. In my hand is the hilt of a dagger lodged in Acanthus' chest.

"Why, Johanna? Why?" He looks up at me and sputters more blood and petals.

"You're the one that's killing them Johanna. You're killing them all." The sound of his laughter splits the night, and I scream.

I sit straight up in bed screaming. I begin shaking uncontrollably. The sound of heavy footsteps rouses my terror, and I grab the letter opener from the nightstand. Snow is coming, my mind screams.

I stand in the bed, gripping the letter opener tightly. The door opens, and I fling the blade.

The knife goes into his bicep, and he's rushing me. I'm blinded with pain and fear as he is on me. I'm screaming at the top of my lungs. "Let me go!" My legs kick, and my fingers claw long marks down his face. I scream again, and again. I pound my fists into his chest and finally shove him off, and grab the bedside lamp. I slam it down, and hold the glass in my hand, turning to attack.

"Anna!" His voice brings me down, I start trembling.

Finnick moves toward me, and I'm sobbing. There's blood all over my clothes, all over me. He pries the piece of glass from my hand. Someone comes in, and he says something to them, but I'm sobbing so loud I can't hear.

He wraps his arms around me tightly and brings me to the bathroom. Something frantic in my mind breaks loose and I fight against him as he tugs me under the hot running shower. The water hits me in the face, on my body, and I collapse in his arms limp as I sob against him.

He hold me there until we both sink to the bottom of the tub. I shiver and shake, and he holds me tighter and tighter, trying to stop it. The blood runs in the tub, and I'm too weak to scream anymore.

I don't know how much time passes when I hear his voice. He comes into the shower and picks me up from Finnick's arm. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. What happened?"

But I don't say a word. I just cling to him harder and tighter. I can hear him and Finnick talking in low voices. I see Finnick pull the blade out of his bicep, and I shudder. He wraps a towel around it, and they both take me to the bedroom. Finnick talks to me in a low voice, and I watch his lips, even though I can't understand a word. It's all like so much buzzing. He unbuttons my shirt and takes it off while Raven works on my pants. I'm standing there in my underwear trying to focus on what Finnick says.

"It's okay," he strokes my face. "It was an accident. No one will know."

But I know.

Softly, I start to cry again as they finish undressing and then dressing me. Raven scoops me up in bed and lays there, touching my face and talking to me. "I'm sorry I left Jo. I won't leave again."

His fingers brush across my skin, but I feel too weak and confused to do anything but look at him. It takes all my concentration to focus.

The door opens, but I don't even turn. "Is she talking?" It's Finnick's voice.

"What happened?" Raven asks him.

I can feel Finnick lay down behind me, draping his arm across my hip and putting his chest to my back. Raven stays too, and clings tightly to my hands as I look into his eyes.

"I think it's the dreams," Finnick says gently as he strokes my hair. Somehow, I fall asleep as he whispers in my ear and Raven stares in my eyes.


	110. It's Too Late

**This was supposed to go up last night, but...a lot of things prevented that. Yesterday was my birthday. Instead of having a fun night, or a "I was out drinking" excuse (I don't really drink)-Instead, I spent from 9PM-2AM (22nd-23rd) and then 4AM-10AM at the nursing home with my last grandparent-my nanny. I was there for her last breaths. She passed away easily shortly after my Dad got there. She was waiting for him. All of her grandchildren and children where there to let her go.**

**That's how my 25th Birthday began. We spent most of the day making funeral arrangements, and then eating and gathering photos. Today, we were at the funeral home for 3 hours hugging people as they came and saying our final, private goodbyes. It still doesn't feel real.**

**Tomorrow we bury her.**

**Prayers for my family and I during this time.**

**Districts of Rebellion teaser will be put up in a few minutes. Next week will be a one shot from D11 showing a moment of Rebellion (on Friday) as part of 13 Weeks of Rebellion. Next Phoenix update will be Monday/Tuesday-not sure which day. It's written already.**

**Thanks and enjoy**

_**I start to think there really is no cure for depression, that happiness is an ongoing battle, and I wonder if it isn't one I'll have to fight for as long as I live. I wonder if it's worth it.**_  
><em><strong>Elizabeth Wurtzel <strong>_  
><em><em>

For three days, I don't move from the bed voluntarily. I am lost in a nightmare of pain and tears. Something inside of me just snapped and broke into pieces. When I'm not crying, I stare at the walls or the ceiling and everything just stays blank as if nothing at all is happening.

But inside of me, I feel like I'm on fire—terrified of everything but too petrified to move. I can't draw myself out. I don't even know if I want to.

On the fourth day, Acanthus comes in. "Can I speak with Johanna alone?" he asks the others. I hear them leave, and he comes to the side of the bed and kneels there looking at me. There are purplish bruises under his eyes. He's exhausted and drawn.

He reaches out and touches my face, "I…" he stops and looks at me hesitantly. "It's the nightmares, isn't it?"

I just stare at him, and slowly he reaches out his hand and puts it over my cold one. "Oh, Johanna…Who died?"

The frankness of his question draws me out—he doesn't offer soothing words, just asks me to talk about it. "It was you," I whisper, my voice hoarse after days of unuse.

He pulls himself up until he's sitting on the bed beside me. He doesn't say anything stupid like I'm alive, or it was only a dream. He pulls my head over to his lap, and I feel his fingers start braiding my greasy hair. "Sometimes I dream I'm in a garden of roses. Each one of them calling my name, and if I can figure out which one it is before it wilts, Eve can come home. But I can't figure it out. I never can…I either chose rose after rose in a field of thousands or I can't choose at all." He keeps braiding my hair as I look up at him, "Sometimes Eve is there and she tells me that it's my fault. She took out the tesserae for me. That it's my fault she's dead. And then, the whole district starts saying it. I don't even know most of them—but I can feel the crushing sense of guilt, and I know it's my fault."

"I dreamed that I was running from Snow. Nicholas was dead, and you..you were dying. As I stayed there with you, Snow told me it was my fault. When I looked I had stabbed you. Then your wound bled out red rose petals and white ones fell from the sky. He tells me I'm killing them all…" I blurt out all at once. "I can't breathe without thinking about it, I don't want to move from this bed." I feel the tears dripping down my face.

"Jo, if you don't snap out of it, they're going to take you to the hospital. You know what that means—drugs, maybe restraints."

I flash back to after my win, after losing my baby…"I can't do that, I can't."

"Then you've got to get up," he finishes the braid and ties it off. His voice is a little forlorn. "I used to braid Eve's hair for her sometimes. She had this doll she played with alot, braided its' hair. I wanted to learn too."

He helps me to my feet, and I'm so weak, I can barely stand. I stagger toward the door, and Finnick and Raven rush forward to me, but Acanthus stops them with a look. I push off of Acanthus, "I can do it myself." I say it as strongly as I can and very slowly make my way downstairs and into the kitchen.

Each step is a supreme effort, and by the time I sit down, my muscles burn and I feel dizzy. Finnick makes me a grilled cheese sandwich while Raven plies me with strong black coffee. I can feel my head clear, and a little of the weariness abating. I eat one sandwich then ask for another and another.

Months passed before I felt back to my old self, until one day when I looked back, it was hard to remember how bad it was. It seemed like days of fog, nothing very clear at all.

I feel how hollow and gaunt I've become. Raven builds me a pool, and with Finnick's assistance I start to swim again. It all comes back to me, the way of moving under and over water. Sometimes, I dive down to the bottom and just look up to the sky the way it reflects and refracts at me.

I find at first everything is slow in coming back. It's been so long since I ran or swam or climbed trees or even swung an axe. But the muscle memory remains, and it comes back as if I've never stopped.

Finnick visits as often as he can between lovers. We swim and talk, or sometimes we just say nothing the whole time. It's peaceful between us. Sometimes, I just hold him as he cries.

Acanthus comes even more often. He swims and reads, and I teach him how to cook some things. He asks me how to speak to women, and I tell him that I don't know. I'm not the person to ask, so Raven talks to him how Acanthus' father should have been able to.

When we're alone, Acanthus tells me about the girl. How she's pretty and sweet, how she's falling in love with him. How it would be easy to love her under different circumstances.

At night, sometimes I rock Jacob to sleep and I feel so empty and lonely that it aches. Because as long as there are games, as long as there is this terrible world, I'll never have a child. And even then...

We go to some parties, and everyone has a laugh at my actions of walking out nude. They all admire my spirit, and I laugh and smile with them knowing that the plant worked. Somehow, despite all my flaws, the Capitol loves me. A few even try to seduce me, but I smile and tell them, "I'm sure Raven would love to hear this story." Then they don't bother me again.

Spring comes and goes and the start of summer begins. Acanthus and I haven't been home since around the the end of the Victory Tour. In a day or two we'll be going back for the Reaping.

Raven is late, taking care of some meetings when Acanthus arrives. He doesn't talk or respond in any way. He stands there in the hall as I shut the door and he just stares at his feet.

"Acanthus," I start before I smell the reek of Gin on him. "Have you been drinking?"

"What?" He looks up at me clear-eyed, Oh. No it's not mine." He sheds his jacket on the floor.

"Tell me," I urge him.

"She's pregnant." I feel my stomach drop. Acanthus is going to be a father—well, not really. He's not going to get the chance to be anyone's dad. "My services are no longer needed now." I can see the heartache in his face, "I am not longer allowed to see her or the baby, not ever again."

I grip his hand, because there aren't any words I can say to help him. All of his illusions have been peeled away. He knows how fragile my temper has become, how angry I am to the point of hardly being able to conceal it at times. After all the things the Capitol has done to me, after all this waiting…it's hard to be patient.

I'm more like the girl who just came out of the arena.

Acanthus sleeps in the spare room that night. And the whole time that I'm making love to Raven I wonder what will happen to him if I have my way. If the Capitol falls, he'll be a traitor, and if all this fails, I will be. I wonder how much time we have left together before we are swept away by forces beyond our control.

It would be so much easier to end it now, even if it meant going back to being sold—if only I could blot him out of my mind and forget him completely. If I could just make it as if the last few years with him had never happened, because I know that I'm already losing him a little day by day. There's no way out of this.

We take the train back to District Seven the next morning. We'll be there for three days before the reaping. Then we'll be back to the Capitol to mentor and gather sponsors. This will be Acanthus' first time mentoring.

We make our way home to Victor's Village, and find Haemon sitting on the porch of the house waiting. When we approach, I can immediately tell that something is wrong.

He stands up, leaning heavily on his cane, eyeing Acanthus. "What is it?" I ask. Acanthus' hand is gripping my arm.

"You better come in," he opens the door to the house.

When we walk into the den, I see her first. But it doesn't take Acanthus long to see her. She stands up quickly, the dress falling across her bulging stomach.

Acanthus' voice breaks, "What are you doing here?"

Her face is swollen with the late stages of pregnancy, and on either side of her sit two kids—both of them about fourteen and sixteen year old girls. She bites her lip, "It's yours, Acanthus."

"What the hell?" His hands go up to the sides of his head. "What the hell did you come here for?"

She looks confused, "Adam take them out of the room now." He gets up and ushers the younger girls out.

"I know you don't want it, but it's yours I thought you should know."

"God, how could you do this?" He's sinking down on his haunches. "How could you be so stupid!"

She let's out a muffled cry and runs toward the front door, but I grab her. She fights against me, "Let me go, let me go!"

Acanthus is sitting down looking pale and drawn. "Explain it to her, Acanthus, or I will."

He shuts his eyes, "You could have said it was anyone's but mine and it would have been better. If people find out, it'll be reaped as soon if it's of age. If I don't do everything perfectly, they'll kill you, your sisters, and the baby. Don't you understand how dangerous this is? It'd be better to be anyone but mine's."

She's sobbing, "I didn't know. I didn't know. I can just go," she pleads.

"It's too late," I say. "Snow will know by now. You're stuck with us no matter what now."


	111. The Spark

**Thank you for all of your condolences. The past few days feel a lifetime, and knowing that people I don't even know-are out there praying and thinking of me-it helped a lot. It lit a bright light in hours of darkness, shone through the haze of sadness and depression. It's nice to know that people care, really and truly. And I hope to always pass that one. Which is why, I want to dedicate this chapter to someone-**

**To Carrie: Remember that life can be difficult, it can be excruciating at times, but only in the darkness can we find the light-the hope. Only then can we see what true kindness is. Whatever you are dealing with, whatever makes you hurt and ache-know that I am thinking of you, caring for you, and praying for you even though I don't even know you, though I dont' know your real name or anything about you except that you know what it's like to be depressed, to feel lost. You can overcome it, you can rise above it-like a phoenix and shine brighter and more glorious than ever.**

**Much Love,**

**Phoenix Refrain**

_**"They are the ones who bring meaning to our lives, who happen to inspire, who spark a fire that we carry with us for the rest of our days, who are but pillars of hope and sometimes sacrifice, life-changers, life-savers, catalysts." ― Chirag Tulsiani**_

The girl cries for hours. Finally, I learn her name is Leah and she's nineteen now—past her reaping. She is the sole breadwinner for her family now that her father has died. It was that reason that she went to Acanthus. She'd come to his house late at night and taken off her clothes. After she'd asked him for some coins, some food to get by.

He'd given her his whole month's pay, if she stayed with him for a few more days. He'd lost his virginity to her, taught himself how to please women by making love to her and another girl.

When she started to show, she stopped working in the mines and came to Haemon and told him who the father was. They'd moved her and her sisters into my house, and Haemon stayed there with them—not letting the girls go to school without one of them escorting them. They had kept Leah comfy, told her that they'd talk to Acanthus when he was home.

She didn't even know that she'd sealed her fate. She didn't understand that she was now tied to Acanthus, and anything he did wrong would be taken out on her.

All packaged up in a neat little bow for Snow.

We're only there for a day before Leah goes into labor. It lasts for thirty-six hours before the baby arrives. Leah's exhausted, sobbing in fear and joy as the mid-wife lays the baby in her arms.

A boy.

Acanthus can't help but smile at the tiny creature that grips his hand. As I watch him lean forward and kiss Leah's blond head, telling her what a good job she's done—I can't help but feel pain. Light blond down covers the baby's head, reminding me of Liam. Acanthus says something about his mother being blond, that it reminds him of her.

They name him Caine after his sister's district partner—in honour of him, of his sacrifice and his devotion.

It's too much for me to keep looking at that baby, or for Acanthus as he begins telling her the things that he does—the things he will do for her. He tells her all that he can. He tells her that she's not ever to go anywhere without the other Victors.

I go outside in the warm, night air and stand in my thin shirt and pants. I clutch the axe that I've brought out with me. It feels so right in my hand as I walk through Victor's Village and then past into the town. The Peacekeepers don't stop me as I walk out into the forests. I find a tree and start hacking at it. Wood chips fly, and I feel my palms beginning to ache. I haven't cut wood in so long—but it comes back so easily.

Everything flits through my mind. My whole body aches. I let all the hate I feel resonate in each axe swing. The fear that I feel for Acanthus, the hate for Snow, and the hatred of my fragile state of mind.

I hate all of it.

I chop until my arms feel like they're going to fall off. I set the axe down and realize that I'm crying. The blisters on my hands have opened up, and the blood drips through my fingers. I stare at the blood all over my hands, and I give up trying to hold anything in. I bury my face into my bloody hands and cry myself out where no one can see me.

I find my way home shortly before dawn, my face and shirt covered in blood and the axe dangling from my hands—and Nicholas there waiting for me. He helps me into the kitchen and cleans my hands before I head up to the shower.

Nicholas bandages my hands when I get out. He doesn't ask a question at all. He strokes his thumb over my face, "You remind me of my Lena."

I don't ask him. I can see the fragility in him today. "Thank you." I smile at him wearily.

But he's not done, "I can feel it coming." He's lost in that otherworld when he's like this. "Like a tidal wave, it's going to sweep us all under."

"It's okay, Nicholas. I can swim."

He looks at me with eyes that aren't as lost as I thought, "But I can't, Johanna. And all the swimming in the world won't get you free of this tide."

I want to ask him what he means, but instead I let him go, not sure that I want to know.

I dress carefully in long pants and a shirt with no sleeves. I leave my hair down and pull on the black leather fingerless gloves that my stylist gave me.

Acanthus is dressed in black pants and a blue shirt that sets off his eyes. He holds the baby for a few minutes. I think he's trying to remember this feeling so that he can endure anything in the Capitol. I hope it stays with him. He has to keep remembering.

He hands the baby back to Leah. She looks with fear at her sisters, because they're both of reaping age. Acanthus tells her not to worry as she heads out with the older Victors.

Acanthus stands there for a moment. "I held him in my arms for hours, and still—"

"It doesn't seem like enough, does it?" I clench my hands into fists and breathe deeply.

"I called the Capitol last night." He shuts his eyes and leans his head against the wall. "I asked to speak to Snow. I waited and waited. But he finally talked to me. I told him, I'd do anything—anything he wants, hell anyone he wants as long as her, the baby, and her family are safe." He opens his eyes, and I can see the unspilled tears in them. "So this is what it's like to have someone left?"

"Yeah," I open the front door. "We're going to be late."

We make our way silently from Victor's Village. The streets are empty. Everyone is already in the square. We arrive and take our places on the stage. The introduction begins as we stand there, and then they read the Treaty of Treason. Finally, I tune into the words "And now for our tributes for the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games!"

I look out over the crowd and wonder who will be picked. There's few of age that I even know anymore. But when the name is called, it's not me who knows her—it's Acanthus.

"Ela Gertz!" I see him flinch, and as she walks on stage I realize that I recognize her as the other girl that left his home in the early hours of dawn.

She makes her way up the stage. Her face is set into a firm line. As usual, no one volunteers for her. One look at her tells me that she won't have a chance. She's short, with dirty blond hair, about 4'11, and she weighs seventy or eighty pounds—if even that. She has some strength in her arms. She's not completely weak—but they're all going to have a longer reach than her and longer legs. She's going to die—she knows it, I know it, and so does Acanthus.

The boy, Cyrus Janders, is called. He's about 5'5 and very slight. There's nothing of the same composure in him. He's not weak—but he won't last long in the arena—odds are he won't make it out of the bloodbath.

Then it's over, and the tributes go to say goodbye while we get on the train.

Acanthus holds the glass decanter for a moment, and then throws it across the room and watches it shatter. "Dammit! What the hell?"

"You made a deal with him, Acanthus. And this is the warning. If you step out of line, what's happening to her will happen to Leah's family."

"So you're telling me it's my fault?" His eyes are flashing.

"Do you think it's not? You know as well as I do that he has done this to prove a point. She's going to die and there's nothing you can do about it," I shoot back.

He stands there for a moment and then rubs his hand across his eyes, "She doesn't have a chance. What do I do?"

I pour a glass of water and hand it to him. "Do whatever you need to, to comfort her. Whatever it takes to give her comfort, because she's going to die. Sleep with her if you have to. It'll be good practice for what's to come. Make her believe it."

He takes long drinks of water, and goes to sit on the couch.

When the tributes get on the train, Ela runs straight into Acanthus arms. He cradles her to him, and I can hear him whisper sweet nothings into her ears. This is the skilled boy of the Capitol, the lover who's going to be making the rounds now that he's not being held for one girl.

Acanthus comes out of Ela's room, leading her to the couch to watch the recaps. I see that he's taken what I've said to heart, as he cradles against her. Cyrus fidgets as the sees how Acanthus is treating her. "Don't worry," I smile wickedly. "I'll be your mentor and you don't have to sleep with me." Ela blushes but keeps her chin up.

We sit down, ready to see who the competition is.

As usual, there's the beauties from one. Glimmer is a volunteer, as is her partner Marvel. They both have the stupid luxurious names of their district and the blond hair and green eyes. They all look like Cashmere and Gloss in a way. He's tall—over six foot, while she's about average-ish height, 5'7 or 5'8.

District two has volunteers too, which is…normal. You'd think they wouldn't be so eager to die. The girl is named Clove. She's about 5'4. There's an air of arrogance about her—even the mayor seems to be afraid of her. The male tribute that volunteers takes my breath away for a moment. I'd seen him at the party, seen him when I gave his brother's token back—Cato. He's tall and strong, brooding. There's the same raw power in him as his brother. I don't understand why he would even want to volunteer…Careers are just nut jobs, I guess.

District three passes by without notice. The tributes from four aren't that impressive, besides for the fact they'll be in the career pack. Districts five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten don't make an impression. But the girl from eleven is only twelve, and so tiny. It makes me sick, and one look at Acanthus' face shows me that he's thinking of Isadora. This little girl's name is Rue.

The boy, who's called—Thresh, is large. About 6'5 or so—taller than any of the other tributes. He's heavily muscled. He's so unnaturally large that it takes your breath away to look at him. In an underfed, poor district—he has thrived. He could give the careers a real run for their money.

District twelve reaps anther twelve year old—Prim Everdeen, and I'm filled with disgust as she begins walking up to the stage. Her long blond hair is in a braid, and her shirt is untucked in the back. That's when I hear the scream, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

Slowly, I stand as they talk about how no one has volunteered in District 12 for years, maybe ever. I watch the girl shake off the peacekeepers and walk up the stairs in defiance, as some boy carries off her sister who's screaming her name over and over. "KATNISS!"

And I realize that I've seen them both before in my visits through the district. Those eyes are the same. They're filled with hatred, filled with passion. They announce her name, Katniss Everdeen, Prim's older sister. The whole district doesn't clap, not one soul, even when they are asked. They press three fingers to their lips and throw them out to her in salute.

I feel the chills emanating off of my body. They call the boy, Peeta Mellark, but I am staring—am captivated by her.

Blight cuts into my thoughts, "What's wrong, Johanna?"

But nothing is wrong. It's _her_. The one we've been waiting for.

**AN: And there she is folks, The Spark. Welcome to the 74th Annual Hunger Games!**


	112. Choices and Comparisions

**And here we go! Next update is Monday/Tuesday (not sure which). Also, check out my new one-shot "Not an Accident"-which is part of my 13 Weeks of Rebellion leading up to the release of Catching Fire.**

_**"Sacrifice, which is the passion of great souls, has never been the law of societies."**_  
><em><strong> Henri Frederic Amiel<strong>_

I keep staring at her as they talk about her act of bravery on the screen. We've long since ate, and the tributes, Acanthus, and Blight have all gone to bed, leaving Haemon and I awake.

Haemon's voice is even, kind. "When that girl volunteered, she brought back so many old memories."

"What do you mean?" I pour a glass of scotch and pass it to him, then pour another for myself.

He takes a long sip before answering. "Well, after I was reaped—I noticed during the chariot rides that all of the tributes from twelve had always seemed weak. The boy that I killed from twelve wasn't strong, but thin and weak."

He pauses, and I realize that this is the first time he's really talked about his games before. I take a sip of the scotch, "They've always looked like that."

"Not always," he takes a long draught. "The boy, Ryder Kight. I kept thinking about him, kept thinking how easy it had been to kill him and how hungry he was," he moves his glass as he watches the amber liquid slosh around.

"I was lying in a hospital bed when Nicholai, your grandfather came in. I asked him why they looked so terrible, why they seemed to be so much weaker than the rest. And he told me that when he was a child, he saw the first Hunger Games. He was about five or six at the time. All of the people who were reaped were older—and talented. He told me that his mother had sat him down and told him that they had all had a part in the Rebellion. That this was their punishment. No one knew much about the first games, only that they had to fight. They accepted it, quietly and with dignity—they'd just fought a war and lost. He told me that he remembered how they'd called a girl's name—that she was only twelve. Then he heard someone else volunteer, cry out that she would go instead. She was a fighter, a Captain in the Rebellion and only seventeen when the war ended. He said that he remembered walking by her on the street and looking at her in awe. She was scarred, but there was a terrible and powerful beauty about her—wild and daring. She'd been beaten the week before. The blood was staining through the back of her shirt as she walked up on stage. How she stood there proud and defiant. Black hair, dark grey eyes—olive skin. How he had been struck by how she looked, like an avenging angel. And that even then, he knew he'd never forget her."

He sloshes the liquid around some more as I watch him. I've never heard this story before. "And who was she?"

"Emera Dayton," he grimaces. "I've seen her games. I've seen how she fought, how she struggled with the humanity of it—fighting against her friends, against people she'd fought with. She was the last poor rebel. Before her, they had more food, were allowed to work in the mines. But things got worse—what she did…what she did, God. What she did!"

"What did she do?" I ask, setting down my drink.

"We can't talk about it."

"Then why did you bring it up?" I snap back at him, the thin line of my nerves threatening to snap.

"It was just a memory. But all of them look the same, same grey eyes and black hair. A proud people. A starving people." He closes his eyes, "It was…wrong of me to compare Katniss to Emera. No one deserves to try to live up to Emera or to be compared to her and punished."

There's a kind of anger to his words, a pain. I look back to the TV and wonder if she really is like this Emera Dayton. I hope she is, because the only people the Capitol doesn't talk about is the ones that have caused them trouble. It's been Seventy-Four years, what did she do that after all this time her name is still taboo?

I drink to her silently, and wonder what happened to the last poor rebel.  
>***<p>

The next morning finds me waking on the couch, the light stinging my bloodshot eyes. My head pounds from the amount of excitement, confusion, and alcohol of the day before.

My thoughts go back to Katniss, and I conjure up her image in my mind to try to weigh out her chances in the arena. She reminds me of myself-in a way. She's not trying the weak ploy, despite how small she is—not in stature, but in weight. She's so underfed—yet, at the same time she looks better fed than most in her district. And yet…I can tell a mask when I see when. What hides beneath it?

She's someone I would have clearly marked as dangerous. The boy looks kind but strong—two qualities that don't go well together in the games. I disregard him. She's the one, she has to be—if only, if only Haymitch makes sure to cultivate it, if he's sober enough to even do that.

I pull myself off the couch and cringe as I make my way to the table to get a cup of coffee. The black, bitter coffee burns its way down my throat and helps to clear some of the fog in my brain. Sometimes, I wonder how I ever made it without coffee.

I make my way to my room and shower quickly. It's hard to wrap my mind around the idea that this is just another reaping—that others might not have seen what I saw. The kind of devotion that Katniss Everdeen showed is rare. I've seen younger siblings be sent off in my district because their older siblings weren't willing to die for them.

That's what's so rare about her sacrifice—in a District that's had only two winners ever—she's said that she would die for her sister. It's what I would have done for my sister or my brother—but not everyone feels the same. It's something I've never understood.

Even now, all these years later, I wish I had been old enough to volunteer for Liam or had been there to save Sven and Greta. My life for theirs seems like a bargain, but I never had that choice. For that, I envy her.

I pull on a pair of brown shorts and a green shirt to wear with brown heels. I change out my gloves for a pair of brown fingerless ones. I put on the make-up quickly and exit my room just in time to see Acanthus exiting Ela's room.

For a brief moment, I see them both smile. Hers is genuine if a little brittle with stress, but his is that carefully cultivated look of a Victor. It seems he's perfected his mask. He whispers into her ear as she giggles against his chest gripping his shirt.

He turns to me, and I see the flash in his eyes, and for a moment the mask drops. There's pain there and disgust, and then it's gone.

By the time I sit at the table everyone is gathered. Sibyl sits there looking over something in her hand. She hasn't spoken with me since my games—whether it's because I deceived her or she couldn't forgive me for coming home instead of Wren, I'll never know.

She doesn't even seem interested as we begin to talk about strategy and who the tributes are. Both of the tributes are sixteen. Ela is from the community center. She landed there last year with her sister after their father died in a wood-cutting accident. Her mother had died in childbirth. She's good with an axe—but then, we all are. It's just kind of what we do.

Cyrus, on the other hand, comes from a family with three brothers past reaping age and two brothers and a sister younger than him. He'd had sixty tickets. He's annoyingly optimistic and keeps talking about his family. He's also good with an axe.

Go figure.

Thankfully, we arrive in the Capitol and I don't have to hear more about their pathetic lives that are about to be cut short. I hate to hear about them. The less I know about them when they die, the better.

When we get off the train, it's the first time in years that Raven doesn't greet me. He was having some important meeting, and I told him it'd be alright for him to go—that this year's tributes needed more help than usual.

I needed more time to Katniss and the Rebellion without him clouding my mind. Still, I look for him on the platform even though I know he's not there.

The car ride is filled with senseless babbling from Cyrus until I can't take the sound of his voice a moment longer. "If you don't shut up, I'll throw you out of the car while we're still moving and make the driver turn around just to run you over."

The sight of his astonished face pleases me, and I feel that angry beast coiling in my chest. It's nice to know that people still remember to be afraid of me.


	113. Kindling

**Thanks Bekki, but the Quarter Quell happens every 25 years (the 25,50, and 75 games).**

**Sorry this is late, next update is Tuesday (unless I become a zombie in front of my PS3 Kingdom Hearts 1.5 remix and forget all manner of food or days of the week).**

_**"You kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire."**_

_**Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities (often quoted in Infernal Devices)**_

We hand the kids over to their makeover teams. Acanthus drops the mask as soon as Ela is gone and drops to the couch heavily. "I need a drink," he lays his head all the way back.

Haemon sits down next to him, talking in that low consoling voice. I turn to speak to Blight—noticing that he's gone. I look around the room, my brow furrowing—but he's not there. "Where's Blight?" I question.

Haemon glances at me, then looks away, ignoring me. I run my fingers through my hair, then pull it up into a knot when Verity comes to me. She stands there for a moment before she speaks. "They're so small." There's a sad note in her voice.

"They're children," I shoot back. "What did you expect?"

She pales at that, "Johanna…you could have trusted me back then. You can trust me now." She looks at me with determined eyes.

I glare at her. "I didn't trust you then, and I don't trust you now. You dressed us up to die, like some demented dolls you played with. Nothing will change that—nothing will make me forget that. And if it was worth the effort, I'd snap your pretty little neck. So don't forget that."

She scoots back away from me, her eyes brimming with tears. "Get out of here, before I change my mind."

She flees, tears spilling from her eyes. I can't help but feel satisfied. A voice smooth as silk cuts in, "Johanna—I thought you were going to play nice."

I turn to him, and for a moment I'm lost in sea green eyes. "I'm tired of playing nice, Finnick. I'm tired of playing."

"Well, then I won't invite you."

"Then I don't want to go," I spit back testily.

"But you do," he teases.

"Why do I want to go?" I can't stop the exasperation in my tone.

"Haymitch wants to meet us."

"So?" I shrug my shoulders.

"He's sober," he finishes.

I turn to him, taking him in. "This I have to see," I loop my arm with his and head toward the elevators.

The descent is slow, but pretty soon we're on the street walking—Finnick waving off the car that would take us. While we walk along, people wave at him and call out, but because of me they keep their distance. We are left to walk virtually alone.

"How's District 4?" I ask as my heels click on the sidewalk.

"Same," he says half-distracted. Annie is the same as always. "What about yours?"

"I'm sure you've heard," I say gently.

"I heard about Acanthus losing his house to a fire. I just heard that he's having a son."

"Had," I correct.

"No, Johanna." He turns to look at me. "He's having a son. The Delainey girl's hoping he'll look like his father." He guides me across the busy street and around a corner. "She's in love with the boy. She wants to give the baby Acanthus' last name, but her father won't hear of it."

"Stupid little girl," I sigh.

I process what he says. Acanthus is having another little boy. At least this one will be safe though. "How old is his other son?" Finnick cuts into my thoughts.

"Three days," I say distractedly.

The rest of the walk goes on in silence. I want to ask him about Katniss, but it's pointless. I know that that's the point of this. Haymitch never asks to meet with people…and he's _sober._

We enter into a flashy place that seems strange given Haymitch's tastes. Finnick gives his name at the front, and we're seated in a booth in the back. The light are dim as we sit down, and the maitre d' asks if any of Finnick's lady friends will be coming.

Finnick orders us both a steak with shrimp alfredo cooked on top, with a side order of carrots for him and cheesy potatoes with bacon for me. We talk pleasantly about Annie in a detached, give-nothing-away way, and he tells me of how he's going to be in the Capitol quite a bit soon.

Our food arrives, and we're halfway through when Haymitch comes in.

I almost didn't recognize him. His hair is neat and clean, as are his clothes. He looks fifteen years younger than last year. He settles himself in and orders three whiskeys on the rocks.

"I didn't believe it," I say in mock amusement. "Haymitch Abernathy, sober!" I clutch at my heart and fan myself like some little old lady.

The drinks arrive about then and Haymitch starts to drink—but slowly. He smacks his lips, a little loudly. "Nice, sweetheart, always knew you were a piece of work."

Finnick spears another carrot and pops it in his mouth, "I believe you wished to discuss strategies and allies?" Finnick raises his brow.

Haymitch rolls the ice around in his glass before finishing it off and ordering another. "I do," he says.

For a few moments, the table is quiet after they take Haymitch's order. "So tell us about your tributes," Finnick prods the conversation along.

"Peeta is strong. He's well fed, a town boy—merchant's kid. Not enough, but never really lacking. He's strong—not like Cato or that Thresh boy though, but good enough. Katniss though," he pauses.

I finish off my drink while they serve him and order another. Haymitch cuts into his steak. "Katniss hasn't ever had much. Had to provide for her family since she was old enough to be reaped. Got a kid sister she's crazy about."

Finnick interrupts, "Prim. The one she volunteered for?"

"Gold star for you, did your research," Haymitch chuckles as he drinks some more. "But it's more than that. She's good, has a real chance."

"What do you mean?" I ask in exasperation, I'm tired of him beating around the bush.

"I haven't seen it, but she can shoot a bow and arrow, really shoot. Throw a knife too. Little spitfire, nearly got my hand."

I lean back, considering. District twelve doesn't train. They are never more than skin and bones—usually. Knowledge of a bow and arrow marks her as already being an outlaw. There's no other way a weapon like that would be allowed in her district.

That puts the odds clearly in her favour for the games, but also in the rebellion. She's already rebelling against them—illegal weapon, volunteering for the games—

"He's in love with her," Haymitch finishes.

"What!" I shout it, but Finnick whispers it.

Several people turn to stare, but they turn away when I glare at them long enough. Haymitch waits for the silence to settle before he talks again. "Yeah, he's told me that he loves her, has loved her since the first time he saw her when he was five. And he wants to protect her—he wants her to come home instead of him. He's going to proclaim his love at the interviews."

I sit back. I can feel the weight of it sinking in. This boy, whom I'd underestimated and dismissed was going to give her a very distinct edge. She would become coveted—wanted, and perhaps even needed. The boy who would give his life for the girl.

Everyone loves a tragic love story in the Capitol. The districts know them too well to like them at all.

"Poor boy," Finnick frowns sadly. "He's willing to be the sacrificial lamb. But is he really? Or is he going to start fighting once he gets in there?"

"No, kid's tried and true. Arena ain't going to change him."

For a moment, everything feels hot and close as I remember Wren's hand in mine—Wren promising to protect me and wanting to be allies in the arena. People like him…like Peeta should never be in the arena, not that any of us should. But in some ways—I guess I should have and Finnick too. When it came down to it, we valued our hide more than…well, our values. We were ruthless. Not bloodthirsty like Enobaria or Brutus, but ruthless just the same.

We wanted to live at any cost, and here goes this Peeta guy showing he's better than us all.

A part of me hates him for it, for making me feel sick about the things I've done to live—and a part of me begrudgingly admires him.

I finish off my drink.

We have small talk of alliances. We share what our tributes are like, but it's all just cover—just pretext. In the end, he says Katniss won't want to partner with anyone—a decision I can respect. It's easier to kill people when you have no allies.

Then we talk about sponsors, who has deep pockets—who likes what type of victor. I laugh as I put down another glass of whiskey, "Problem is Haymitch that not a soul is going to sponsor two big black pieces of coal!"

We all laugh at that, "Or some mermaids," Haymitch adds on.

"Or some trees," Finnick goads, earning himself a punch.

For the rest of the meal we don't talk about tributes.

The light is dying as they roll the chariots out. Finnick and I take our seats. This year, Haymitch sits with us. It begins quickly, the chariots rolling forward on the screen—we won't see them for awhile here by the President's mansion. It's easy to see how deadly the tributes from two are—how even one pales in comparison to them. More roll by in front of the screen and then suddenly, every screen is filled with one image—the duo from twelve.

Even here, where they aren't even visible in person yet—people are standing and screaming their names.

"KATNISS!"

"PEETA!"

And I watch as on the screen, they hold hands—united, covered in consuming flames.


	114. Hot to the Touch

**Sorry this is a little late, I hurt my hand. Next update is Sunday/Monday. One shot tomorrow!**

**"****_They say a good love is one that sits you down, gives you a drink of water, and pats you on top of the head. But I say a good love is one that casts you into the wind, sets you ablaze, makes you burn through the skies and ignite the night like a phoenix; the kind that cuts you loose like a wildfire and you can't stop running simply because you keep on burning everything that you touch! I say that's a good love; one that burns and flies, and you run with it!"_**

**_ ― _****_C. JoyBell C._**

Every eye is focused on them, and Finnick lets out a low whistle as they move onward. The camera keeps coming back to them, focusing in on how they hold hands—on how they blaze so brightly in the dimming light.

Not coal, but fire.

I look around me, at the crazed fans—people who minutes ago didn't know their names are now clamoring for their attention. She catches a rose and sniffs it before throwing a kiss to the crowds. Each person thinks it's for them—that she is looking at each of them. I can practically see their wallets opening from here.

My eyes land on Snow, and he has a look that's a bit hard to understand. There is amusement there certainly, but something darker—and I wonder if he ever intends for her to make it off her plate in the Games. It's happened before, people die by the Gamemakers. It's not as interesting, but it proves a point—it reminds us that these are still their Games and we are at their mercy.

I lean in to Finnick and whisper, "Why are they holding hands?"

He shrugs his shoulders, and I can see the wheels in his mind spinning. "I don't know, I mean…"

He trails off, because what could it mean?

They are presenting a united front. They can't expect to win these games together, that's just not how it's done. Why has their stylist or Haymitch even allowed this? Has he given them some twisted kind of hope? Or maybe he's just drunk…Because why else would they present this front when in a few days they'll be killing each other?

The chariots come ever closer, until finally we can see them. They are more than mesmerizing. Katniss' hair is in a simple but elegant braid. She wears very little make-up and is easily recognizable as Katniss. Peeta is completely noticeable too.

"Who's the stylist?" I ask, not recognizing the work.

Finnick consults the guide, "Cinna and Portia."

"I've never heard of him before," I answer back.

Finnick is frowning in concentration, "No one has. This is his first year."

President Snow gives his speech, and the camera lingers on the tributes from twelve. As the night comes down on us, no one can turn away from them. They are beautiful.

Finally they circle again and head back toward the training center. Finnick and I hurry to get there. Our tributes are waiting, but more than that, we want to see how Katniss and Peeta act away from the crowds. When we arrive, they've been extinguished and Katniss is leaning up to kiss Peeta on the cheek.

When I look at them, I realize I have more questions for Haymitch. How much of this is an act and how much isn't? Did Peeta tell her already that he loved her? What is going on?

I make my way up to 7's floor and find Verity, Blight, Haemon, Acanthus and the tributes watching the recaps.

Cyrus looks perplexed when he asks, "Why are they holding hands?"

He turns to face me, concern written all over his face. I know that I'm just looking at the face of a corpse. Ela is turned toward me, her chin lifted proud and defiant. I wonder what Acanthus has promised her when she wins? That they'll be together, start a family?

One look at her tells me that the foolish girl has hope. She believes she has a shot—that what he says is true. She believes the lie. If she's lucky, she'll die without finding out it is one.

But I am tired of playing games, tired of telling tributes they'll be fine when I know they'll die—and quickly. "Doesn't matter," I pour myself a drink. "Neither of you'll make it two minutes in the Game."

I pick up the glass, raise it to them—their shocked faces glaring at me, and gulp it down before heading out again.

I pull myself out of the car and make my way up the steps to Raven's house. He wants me to call it ours, but it never really feels like mine. As much as he gives and gives me, I still feel like a stranger here. It's not his fault though, I guess…it's mine.

I move through the house and find that it's empty except for the avoxes. Jacob runs to me and talks in halting, perfect sentences about how much he missed me and how he doesn't want to go to bed.

I kiss his forehead gently and talk with him as he opens up to me about everything. I am his confidante—he trusts me completely. He yawns and yawns as he fights sleep and his voice wavers. Slowly, I start to sway a little and hum.

He lays his head heavily on my shoulder as I run my fingers through his downy hair. "Sing?" He asks.

I start in singing a song that soothed Greta and Sven, one that my parents and Liam sang to me:

_Sleep, baby, sleep_

_Your father tends the sheep_

_Your mother shakes the dreamland tree_

_And from it fall sweet dreams for thee_

_Sleep, baby, sleep_

_Sleep, baby, sleep_

_Sleep, baby, sleep_

_Our cottage vale is deep_

_The little lamb is on the green_

_With snowy fleece so soft and clean_

_Sleep, baby, sleep_

_Sleep, baby, sleep_

I repeat the words as Jacob drifts off peacefully. After I put him to bed, I watch him for a few minutes in silence, thinking of Sven and Greta. Raven's voice doesn't startle me. It seems almost natural to hear it now.

"You would have been a great mother," his voice is soft. I turn to him, see the glistening tears in his eyes and without hesitation I go into his arms. He holds me to him, and he lets me cry on him—as I seldom do—without interruption. He kisses the top of my head as I hold onto him. He doesn't remind me that it's my choice not to have a child—that he would gladly give me one if I wanted it.

We stand there for a long time, crying together silently and watching Jacob sleep. And not for the first time, I wish he was mine and am glad that he isn't. Only because he was "Raven's child" was he safe and his safety meant more to me than anything.

After awhile, I take Raven's hand and lead him out—not to the bedroom, but to the pool he built for me.

I strip down, leaving my clothes in a puddle by the pool before diving in. It's not as graceful as Finnick, I don't think anything really is. I dive deep down, towards the lights on the bottom and then turn on my back to look up through the surface and through the glass ceiling to the moon and stars.

I feel the shift of water as Raven dives in, and my eyes flicker from the moon and stars to him as his swift strokes bring him to me. Then he's there and so close that I almost inhale water at the beauty of him. My hands touch his cheekbones and follow the line of his jaw before I put my hands behind his head. My legs wrap around his naked body almost involuntarily.

We stay like that—locked together, gazing at each other in that way that gives me chills until we're forced to come up for air.

I barely catch my breath when his lips lock over mine. We struggle fiercely against each other, the need so adamant that we could consume each other. We sink under the water over and over again until I'm not sure whether we're under or above—not that it makes a difference to me.

When our lips break apart, I use the distraction to break away from him. I push off and across the pool. I can feel the water displacement behind me, the powerful strokes he is using to catch up with me—but I am faster.

I make the steps in the shallower end, and wait for him. He stands when he's able and walks to me, the water reflecting and glistening on his body—the heavy muscles standing out beneath his skin. His hand cups the back of my head as he reclines me against the steps. The hard edges embed into my skin, but I'm too lost in him to care much.

"What do you think about your tributes?" His body hovers over mine as his hands glide over my breasts.

I pull him down closer to him, "They're going to die." I kiss him hard, pulling him into me and causing him to release a shiver of pleasure.

"Hmm," his lips glide down my skin.

We talk absently about our days, about our time apart—stupid little things that have nothing to do with how we fit together, but everything to do with who we are. To be able to talk to him about anything—trivial or not-during these intimate times when our bodies slick with sweat means a lot. I don't have to fake the pleasure with him, even when our timing is off—I fit with him perfectly.

But even as my body quivers in the aftermath, I know that the time is coming closer and closer to when I will lose him…and I don't want to. But I love him enough to know that if I was even allowed to invite him in, I couldn't. I couldn't risk him dying for helping me—He had to live even if that meant in the end I had to let him go.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He kisses my temple as we lay out naked on a lounge chair beneath the night sky.

I sigh against his chest, "I was just thinking about how much I love you."


	115. The Truth Hurts

**9/24/2013**

**I had anticipated writing ahead, and getting some chapters stocked up so that this would be a minor announcement, but things...happen. I would have loved nothing more to have been writing the past few days to stock up for my carpal tunnel surgery on Thursday, but again...something happened.**

**When you love someone (in my case, a beloved pet) you have to accept that inevitably you are going to lose that someone-to old age, growing apart, to accident-death will eventually sever the bond in some way or at least change it.**

**When you love someone that has an illness, it's harder because you don't know when that end will come only that it will be sooner than you want. You wake up knowing each day that today is the day you might lose them. You don't know when it's coming, but it is coming. You can feel it with ever fiber of your being.**

**What can you do?**

**Enjoy the time you have left. Throw caution to the wind, and love them with everything you have. But the thing is that when that end comes, it hurts so bad. Your whole body aches with the pain of it. Nothing can stop it. You are left raw, aching.**

**When we took in Nimbus and Sirius they were about five weeks old. Someone found them alone in a parking lot in the rain. Even though she was allergic to cats, she took them home and cleaned them-posted for someone to take them in. I answered.**

**We took them both in, tiny kittens so full of love and playful. Sirius has always been prone to colds. He's a big lanky black cat that even though he's almost three he sounds like a kitten. Nimbus from the time we got her was always "huffy puffy" like she might be slightly winded. She wasn't, but you could see her breathing was...different.**

**In cats, heart issues are a death sentence. They could live to be ancient or you could wake up and find them dead with no warning. Earlier this year, our cat CC died of heart related problems that caused her to be temporarily paralyzed with a blood clot and then she got better. We thought she'd made it past it. She was acting normal, completely perfectly normal.**

**The next day, we woke up and she was dead at her food dish. Easy as that. No more warning. We never even knew she had a heart problem until she had a major one-which is how it usually happens. We think that's why someone threw her out on the road by her house-why we got to have ten months with her.**

**With Nimbus, we knew that she had a heart problem from the moment we took her in the vet. It was minor, but that means nothing. A heart murmur in a cat one day can cause it to be dead the next. We were told she might not even live past six months. She and her brother were inseparable.**

**A few days ago, she was acting strange. She had messed herself, and thrown up on herself. She was hiding, and she would let me hold her. We took her to the vet immediately, taking her brother with her to keep her calm. By the time we got there, she was better.**

**They told us that she had fluid in her chest. That she needed a diuretic. She had passed out because she wasn't getting enough oxygen and had a seizure. If they could get the fluid out then they'd stop. She might be on meds temporarily or long term. We came back home, it was the middle of the night. We fed her. She was acting fine.**

**The next day, she was out doing her own thing and then she disappeared. We started to worry because she never hides. She's always out-always on the table even when she's not supposed to be. It took us about an hour and a half to find her. She'd hid under nightstand.**

**When we found her, she felt really bad. We took her back in. We waited in the waiting room (another emergency had come in) and she had a gasping episode (she'd had two in the car) and this one was a seizure. It lasted three seconds at most.**

**They gave her more shots, I told her how much I loved her and it was alright before they kept her. He said that he thought she'd be okay, but he couldn't guarantee it. And I went home and waited. I waited and waited. I stayed up all night long so I could call as soon as they opened to find out if she had made it through the night.**

**And yet all along, I felt it coming. I was losing her.**

**I thought I had years, many more years with her. I thought that she'd make it to at least five before we had problems.**

**And yet, I knew all night long that she wasn't going to have more time no matter how much I wanted it.**

**It's a terrible thing to be waiting all night for something you can't change. Waiting on a phone call that will leave you feeling shattered.**

**Fifteen minutes before I was going to call them, they called me.**

**Nimbus didn't make it through the night.**

**I have cried so much since then that my eyelids have swelled. I never even knew eyelids could swell like that. It has been like losing my child. She didn't get to make it till three.**

**Her brother is taking it hard. He's always so happy-go-lucky. Always running everywhere, chasing things, and purring, always purring. He knows in his own way she's not coming back. He wouldn't purr, he wouldn't play-he wouldn't even look at me.**

**For the first time, since it happened-he purred at me today. I know he misses her, I miss her so much too. I can't imagine what he feels though-to not understand, to just know she's gone.**

**She didn't suffer. She knew that she was loved. She had almost three years of life, time she'd not have had if she wasn't with us. She would have been three on Christmas Eve.**

**And I guess, the point is. Even if I knew it was going to be like this-I would have done it all over again. Each day that I had her was a blessing and everyday I loved her was something I'd never trade. I think she made me a better person for having loved her.**

**10/8/2013**

**I had my surgery-carpal tunnel and ulna nerve release in the elbow done on the 26th. Stitches in my palm are out, staples come out this thursday-can't do too much yet still.**

**I feel okay now, albeit rather hollow still.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>You know why we live in a world full of lies and deception? Because the truth hurts. People seem to believe lies like it's nothing but when I'm blatantly honest and it's not what they wanna hear they convince themselves it's a lie. Life doesn't stop for anybody. The sooner you accept the reality of whatever situation you may be in the happier you will be.<strong>_

_**Brian Zilinek **_

I wake up just as the sky begins to lighten to find us covered in a blanket. I grip it tightly for a moment before I stretch. If the Rebellion has it's way, I might not have many more nights like this with Raven.

All of it hinges on if Katniss Everdeen can live up to the hype, if she can win.

Raven fights me every step of the way as I try to leave. Each article I try to put on, he tries to take off. His lips nip at my neck as I fight to get my shirt on. I get one arm in as he pulls the other shoulder out kissing it down to my elbow.

"Raven, please," I cry out in exasperation. "I've got to go," I push him hard, but he doesn't give.

"Why? Nothing important happens today. You can let the others handle it. Blight is capable," his lips make my body a traitor as I turn into him.

"It's Acanthus first time in control," I sigh as I feel his lips stop their teasing my skin.

He sighs as he kisses my forehead, "He needs you. I know." He begins to button up my shirt, "Come home tonight?"

"I think so," I knot up my hair quickly and pull on some boots. "Finnick might need me."

Raven pulls on a pair of boxers making it easier for me to concentrate, "How is he doing? How's Annie?"

I pause, "He's...managing."

"I know, it's between you and him, you don't have to tell me." He kisses my forehead gently, "Love you. Behave."

"Can't do that," I laugh before gripping his face tightly. "I love you, too." I kiss him, and I almost don't make it out the door once my lips touch his again.

The tributes are just coming out of their rooms when I arrive on their floor. Acanthus walks out of the girls room and heads down the hall to shower and dress. Ela sits down, her head held up proudly as she breaks apart a roll.

"You'll have to cover up that hickey Ela." She flushes as she drops her roll and covers her neck with both hands. I point to the left side. "They're going to eat you alive kid," I laugh as I slather syrup on my waffles.

"Why are you so mean to her?" Cyrus asks in anger.

"I'm mean to everyone," I laugh as I sip some coffee.

"No you're not," Ela says.

"Excuse me?" I stop with my fork mid-way to my mouth.

"That Raven guy, you're nice to him," there's venom in her voice. "Like his money that much that you'd be a whore for it?"

I slam down the cup of coffee and grab her by the hair across the table. She's screaming as I drag her across the table until she's lying there half in the food fighting with my hands. "Listen here Ela, if you actually had a chance of winning and then you won, we'd be having this little discussion about the duties of being a winner."

"Johanna," Haemon starts.

"No, Haemon, she's going to hear this." I grip her hair tighter, and notice that her lips are quivering a little. "If you win, they put you back together-sometimes they embellish you more. They expect a return on they money they spent to fix you after you watched and helped twenty-three other kids. Then they sell you like a cheap whore to men and women, to groups-to whoever the hell wants you. They don't care if you can't walk for a week or if he gets off on choking on you. They don't care. For the right price, they'd probably let a client kill you. And if you're lucky you'll be sold to one person over and over instead of a new person every night. And if the rules say you pretend to be in love, you do. You do whatever they want or they kill everyone who ever had contact with you.

"You'll do things so degrading that you'll wish you were dead. But you'll keep doing them because you fought for something right? Right? And you'll realize it's all for nothing. Because you killed all of them for nothing! Because it's not worth it." There are tears streaming down her face as I jerk her to me harder, and even I am a bit terrified by the rage in my voice. "I hope you live. I hope you get to see what I mean. And then when some smar-"

"Enough," Blight grips my hand weakly. "Go get ready Ela. Now."

I let go of the girl to find mysellf shaking. She stands there for a moment before she runs for her room. Cyrus stares for a moment longer, and then goes after her.

My whole body is trembling, but no one speaks to me. No one dares.

I can feel that black rage coming over me as I grab up the dishes and smash them against the walls. The shattered glass rains down as I smash plate after plate with or without food. Bright splashes of colour cover the carpet and the walls as I throw anything I can find.

And still it's not enough.

Nothing is enough.

I find myself on the ground, and I'm crying without meaning to. Stupid, foolish weak tears that I hate myself for. Somewhere Snow is watching this-somewhere he is knowing how much he has gotten to me.

My mind screams for Raven or Finnick as everything in me threatens to shutdown, but it's Acanthus who wraps his arms and legs around me from behind to keep me still. It's his shoulder that I fall against heavily as I fight the tears and grit my teeth to regain control.

I try to justify what I did. She deserved to know...But she didn't, not really. She's not a contender, not someone who even has a chance of coming out of this thing. Why destroy what little time she has left?

Yet, I don't regret telling her. Things would have been different if someone had told me. I only regret how close to what I was feeling that it came. She deserved my honesty.

I had come to love Raven, but there was always that underlying current-that knowledge that he was buying me like some toy or slave. His reasons were noble-to save me from being passed around like Finnick. But the truth was the same. I was still bought. I was still owned.

I grit my teeth hard until I can finally pull myself together. Acanthus let's me go, and I rise to my feet ignoring the damage I've done as the Avoxes come in.

I look at them both, really look at them. Neither one of them are him-neither one of them has those warm brown eyes that wish me luck, that believe in me. These eyes of blue and green only hold some kind of terror of me.

It's better for them that way.

I'd rather be feared than pitied.

After I shower and collect myself, I meet Acanthus in the lobby and take him over to Control. The room has only Nuts and Volts from 3 in it. I point them out to Acanthus, "That's Nuts and Volts. brainiacs from District 3. Don't ask them anything technical. They go on and on about it. A real snooze fest." I ignore Beetee's frown in my general direction.

I point at our districts station, "And this is the station. Questions?" I cross my arms.

"Yeah, Johanna. You're going to have to give me more than that," he sits down in the chair. "How do you even turn this thing on?"

I sit down beside him and give in to the inevitable. I point out how to turn on the computer, how to access the menu. I show him how we see how much funds we have-or how little, and show him how we track each tributes vitals.

"Are you ready?" I ask him, watching him closely.

"For the games?" He looks askance at me, and I nod. He sighs for a moment, "I woke up in a cold sweat this morning thinking about it. I got up and threw up before I remembered that I wasn't going back in, that I've already won-that I'm already in hell."

"All the devils are here," I quote.

"What?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Something, I read once or heard or something. 'Hell is empty, all the devils are here.' Or something like that." I flip the screen off. "It doesn't get easier."

"You could have lied, it would have been kinder." He leans back in his chair and stares at me.

"Since when have I been kind?" I shoot back. "Brutal honesty is my speciality," I shrug my shoulders.

"I remember, you know."

I hesitate for a moment, "Remember what?"

"I remember laying on that bed calling for Eve. I remember you were there to comfort me," he keeps staring at me causing my skin to prickle.

"You weren't supposed to remember that," I say slowly.

"Why? Why is it so important for me to think of you as a cruel and selfish? Why is that so important?"

I keep my silence, unsure of what to say to him. Because it's easier for people to hate me than love me? Because love only ends one way for me? Because I've done it for so long it's the only way I know how to?

I look at him evenly. "I don't have to tell you anything Acanthus," I stand up and put my hand on the desk as I lean over to him. "Get it straight right now. I watch out for my own hide. I don't give a damn about you or anyone else. I'm selfish and I'm petty. I'm not going to change, so don't try to change me. Don't try to make me noble. It is what it is, and at the end of the day-all that matters is I'm alive."

Acanthus stares at me as I stare back at him. He says nothing, his face completely impassive. I stand up and turn to walk away when I hear his voice, "Keep telling yourself that Johanna. You care sometimes, and if you say you don't then you're lying to yourself."

I stop for a moment with my back to him. I want to snap back, I want to say something scathing-but for once I can't think of anything...because the truth hurts.


	116. I Hate You Too

**Sorry for the long drought, things are getting normalish again. BP has been in the toliet, so I was feeling pretty crappy.**

**I'm hoping to release one of the 13 Weeks of Rebellion pieces tomorrow. My plans are that I will catch up the weeks I missed. I'll let you know what "extra" days those are being published.**

**Phoenix update will be probably be Monday/Tuesday.**

**_We're all still waiting. Waiting for someone to come. But what if they don't? We have to stop waiting. We need to start figuring things out._**

**_We can't do this. Every man for himself is not going to work. It's time to start organizing. We need to figure out how we're going to survive here. But if we can't live together, we're going to die alone._**

**_Jack Shephard, Season 1, Episode 6 of LOST, "White Rabbit"_**

I flick my wrist and down another shot with Finnick. The voices in the restaurant seem to be dulling to a buzz as we wait for Haymitch. The agitation I'd felt after leaving Acanthus has simmered until my whole body feels deadened to the pain-to the truth.

Finnick graciously hadn't asked what was up when I'd come in.

I lean my head back on the cushioned booth, and blow out a smoke ring as Finnick takes the cigar from me and puts it between his lips. "Is Haymitch ever going to show up?" My empty stomach growls just as some appetizers arrive.

The food starts to settle in my stomach and I lose some of the buzz now that my stomach isn't so empty. Unfortunately, that's just when Haymitch arrives with Acanthus in tow. "What's he doing here?" I blow a smoke ring in Acanthus face.

He sputters at the smoke as Haymitch takes the cigar from my lips and takes a long, deep drag. "He's got every right to be here, talking about tributes and alliances and all."

I reach for the cigar, but Haymitch pulls it out of my reach. Finnick cuts in before I can snap at him, "He's right. The boy deserves to be here. Let's order."

The food comes to accompany the small talk. Acanthus cuts up his filet mignon, "So are they going to stick together?"

"That's the plan so far, it could change," Haymitch takes a small drink from his glass-suprising me with his restraint. "She has no clue that he loves her though, she's suspicious of everything he does-of everyone."

"Shows she's smart," I cut up the veal and chew thoughtfully. "So what's he plan on doing? Just sacrificing himself for her?"

Haymitch takes another puff of the cigar and picks up his glass of bourbon. "That's exactly what he plans on doing," he says slowly.

"Still, I mean...most people don't even volunteer for their own family," Finnick trails off.

"He really loves her, he's going to do it," Haymitch takes a long drink.

"But he has a chance," I say slowly. "And he's just going to…"

"Better man than us, sweetheart," Haymitch puts out the stub of cigar in his glass of water.

He's really going to go through with it. I lean back for a minute against the cushions. He hasn't even told her, but he's going to die for her-and she's questioning whether or not he's planning to kill her. "It's not a ruse, you're sure?"

"I'm sure. He doesn't even think he can make it. He said his mom said that she'd win," Haymitch pushes his plate away.

Finnick puts down his wine, "That's terrible."

The boy just like us is putting everything on Katniss, betting everything on her-even his life. I take a deep breath and think of the ramifications-unrequited love, a girl trying to get home for her sister whom she volunteered for...A united front. It's everything we could have ever dreamed of, almost as if she was custom made for us. "How about we all have some bourbon back at Raven's?" I interject bringing myself and everyone else out of their reverie.

Haymitch says as though he doesn't hear me, "Peeta said something else about her, that she had no idea how she affects people. That people just...care for her, want to help her. His eyes focus back on me, "More cigars?"

"Yeah," Finnick inserts. "Some of the best."

"Let's go then," Haymitch calls for the check and we all head for home.

When I walk through the door, I wave away Esther as we head for Raven's study. Everyone takes a seat as I flip up the heavy cut glasses on the tray and pour three of them full with a fresh bottle of bourbon that Finnick opens. I pass out some cigars, but Acanthus refuses one.

I forgot, they remind him of the community home and of Michael Bastion. I hand him a glass of water and take a seat on the edge of Finnick's arm chair. "We can talk freely here," I take a sip of the bourbon as Fiinnick lights up the cigars.

Acanthus starts, "So Peeta has no clue about the rebellion or anything? He just loves her?"

Haymitch puffs out a ring of smoke, "Just loves her."

Finnick blows out some smoke, "We can use this. If he's going to die for her, we can use him as a martyr for this cause. Do you think she'll play along?"

Haymitch laughs, "No, she won't play along."

"You've got to make her," I challenge.

"She's a bad actress," he downs his glass and then fills it again. "I mean...I'll get her to consent, but I don't know if she can pull it off. I'll tell her it's the only way." He rubs at his eyes, "I like the boy."

Finnick nods, "He's a good guy. But there's nothing we can do for him. There's only one."

Haymitch watches his glass as he rolls it around in his hand, sloshing the drink. "I guess so," he sighs again. He lifts his glass up, "To Peeta Mellark, better than us all."

Each of us lift our glasses slightly, and take a drink.

Back at the Training Center Ela and Cyrus give me a wide berth until supper. The buzz has worn off after a long nap by the time we're all sitting. Acanthus asks them how training was, and each of them talks about the day like it matters.

I want to listen-I force myself, because honestly I can already see their bodies rotting, their ashes blowing in the wind. To me, they are already dead. Even if I wanted them to live, they'd have to die for Katniss Everdeen-for us to have a chance.

And was she going to be who we wanted her to be? She was stubborn, proud, and brave, but could we mold her? Could we convince her that rebellion was the only way that her sister would ever be safe? The only way she'd not have to sell her soul to keep her that way?

But then, maybe working for District 13 was selling your soul. Just like in the Capitol, it all came down to the highest bidder-the Capitol or 13. Try as we might, I guess we'll never get away from this business of being bought and sold.

"What do you think of your competition?" Haemon asks gently.

Ela's eyes flicker to me, "They're good. Thresh is huge. Powerful, and quiet-he's a real threat. The Careers are...deadly."

I give a snort as Cyrus continues, "They're vain though. So maybe there's some way we can exploit that."

"Twelve stays together all the time, like they're joined at the hip. I mean…" Ela pauses delicately, "We stick together some, Cyrus and I, but we know that ultimately…"

"One of us has to die, we can't both live. Better to have some separation now, but they seem to have no clue," Cyrus finishes. "I mean they have to understand. They-"

"They know," I say stopping the conversation from progressing. The rest of the meal is spent in silence.

We meet again for lunch and then go drink Raven's vintage alcohol. My nerves feel oddly jangled the whole time. Each nerve is strung taut like a string on a violin. Even the special kind of reprieve I find with Raven doesn't soothe me.

I kiss Raven goodbye and tell him I have to get some stuff straight in my head. He grabs my hand and looks at me with a look that breaks my heart, "What's going on Jo? What are you keeping from me? You can tell me anything."

I look into his eyes, and a part of me almost blurts out everything. I know, he'd be on my side-on our side. But it's not my secret to tell, it's bigger than us-it's bigger than this love, than any one person.

I kiss him slowly, letting my lips linger. "I'll call you, let you know when I'll be back."

His fingers fall from my arm, letting me go-I'm shocked by how cold I feel without the touch o f his fingers.

My wind whirs as I make my way to the Training Center. I feel like I'm walking in a fog as I punch the button to the 4th floor. The doors open and I see Coral standing there looking dazed. As i get closer, she turns to me-her face is black and blue and her pupils are dilated.

I call out for the Finnick or Tristan-but neither are home yet even though it's past two. One of the tributes sticks her head out, but I shout at her to go back to bed. Coral stumbles into me on her high heels and I have to hold her up to keep us both from falling.

Guiding her, I make my way to her room and run some water. I get her to sit on the edge of the sink as I take off her heels, she's completely compliant-and high as a kite.

I pull the dress over her head, and notice the dark bruise from hipbone to the edge of her bra. I strip out of my own dress and shoes, and lift her up and into the cold water of the shower.

She shivers violently, her eyes rolling around in her head. Her eyes try to focus on me as she hangs her arms over my shoulders. "Who...who...you?"

"It's Johanna," I say as I lean her head back into the water flow. I force her to stay under the stream as she struggles against me. Her eyes are more lucid, when I let go of her hair, dark red with wetness.

"Why?" She looks at me. "I hate you, so why?"

She leans against me heavily, her arms trying to hold on to me-fighting to keep herself upright." I lean into her, my lips only an inch from her ear. "We're Victors. We take care of each other."

"Hmmm," she moans a little as she struggles to stand.

I pull her head back by her hair and turn the water on freezing until she's fighting to get out from under it, more coherent than before. "And I hate you too."


	117. Not Knowing

**Next update should be Friday/Sat. Forgive me.**

**_"I've been making a list of the things they don't teach you at school. They don't teach you how to love somebody. They don't teach you how to be famous. They don't teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. They don't teach you how to walk away from someone you don't love any longer. They don't teach you how to know what's going on in someone else's mind. They don't teach you what to say to someone who's dying. They don't teach you anything worth knowing." _**  
><strong><em>― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones<em>**

"Did you take something?" I ask her, but she seems to be slipping back into a stupor, leaning heavy against me.

"Just let me go," her voice is weak, barely there. I drag her half out of the shower with me, and look around the sink and find nothing. Next to the toilet on the floor is an empty bottle of pills. I flip it over and read the label.

My eyes flicker over the directions and to the fill date-today. Twenty pills of Vicodin. I pull her back into the shower. Obviously no one cares that she's overdosed or whatever cameras are about would have triggered an army of white lab coats.

I slap her face, "Coral, Coral." She fights weakly against me as I shove my fingers down her throat until she gags and vomits up food into the bottom of the shower. I jerk my arms into her stomach, and shove my fingers down her throat again and again.

She fights against me and screams more and more as more of the pills appear in the pool of sick at the bottom of the shower. I sit with her in the bottom as she leans against me, watching the vomit work it's way down the drain-watching the pills dissolve.

Coral shivers against me as we sit there beneath the onslaught of water. Her voice is hoarse, barely there. "Why? Why didn't you let me die?"

I don't know how to answer her. Instincts kicked in instead of thought. She doesn't move or ask again as the water pours over us. We just sit, both of us alone in thoughts until Finnick and Wyatt show up an hour later.

...

Wyatt's lips are set in a firm line as I tell them what happened. Coral won't look him in the eye. Wyatt asks us to leave. At the door, I turn back to see him touching Coral's shoulder as tears stream down her face.

I turn away, and walk with Finnick to his room.

He reeks of liquor and expensive perfume. The wafting smell of cigarettes and stale sweat drift into my nose as he undresses. I see the bite marks on his chest as he steps into the shower, leaning his arms against the walls. They shiver not with weakness, at least not of strength.

I get in and wrap my arms around him as he shudders with sobs. I'll never get over seeing him cry. Never get past how they can do this to him. How in one moment, one slip of paper took away the wreck of his childhood.

With a cloth and soap, I clean the bite marks on his chest and back. He doesn't wince, he just seems numb to it. The things we do to survive.

I wake up holding him close. His arms are clamped around me, as if somehow I will escape him. I don't leave him though the sun comes up and the tributes wake-though my stomach growls. Out there they're going to their last training session before they go to get their scores. They'll show their worth to gamemakers and the real betting will begin-along with sponsorship.

Today will determine how much there is to Katniss, what they're all made of.

I run my fingers through Finnick's tousled hair and think about all the implications of what's happening. The world is changing so fast. In these short span of days, we've seen the glimmer of hope that could help us...but she could also fail. She might not be enough. She might die, she might not even help us.

We are pinning so much on this girl without knowing what she wants. But in the end, will they even let that matter? Will she get a choice at all?

Finnick stirs and wakes up. His eyes go wild for a moment in pure terror, and then he relaxes as he looks up at me. He closes his eyes and tries to calm his breathing. What terror did he expect to wake up to?

Even now, I have dreams about those nights with strangers-I wake up in cold sweats sure that I feel hands at my neck. But Finnick...Finnick is forced to go back for more. Each day a new hell.

I smooth his brow with my hand. "It's okay," I whisper.

"Did anyone help the tri-"

"I don't know," I watch as he panics and I try to calm him, but he's up and out of the room and running into the dining area.

I run after him and see he's stopped in front of the tributes, who've just come back from their scores. They're looking at us both wide-eyed, not that I blame him when Finnick has on pajama pants and all I have on his his long shirt.

"How well did you do?" Coral is sipping coffee, her hands shaking violently as she asks. She's pretending nothing has happened.

The tributes answer briefly, and finally they're dismissed-gladly they leave.

Wyatt stands across the room, his palm flat to the glass window overlooking the Capitol. His eyes are glazed over as he stares. I don't know what to say to him, to any of them. Instead I stay as long as I can. The silence stretches on and on forever. Wyatt is so still that I think maybe he's forgotten how to move. Coral trembles so much that inevitably she breaks her coffee cup.

I wave away the Avoxes and clean up the mess myself and pour her another cup laced with a little brandy. She takes it, her large eyes blinking at me. She looks like a lost child today. I know the kind of clients she gets, more freaks than anything. The beating she took shows that much. I have to turn away from her finally.

In the end, it's only Finnick I can comfort. His long limbs twine around me and he curls to me like the pain of facing today is too much to bear without me. As the sun sets though, I know that it's time to leave-I have my own tributes to attend to.

But the heavy weight of what the scores mean weighs so oppressively on us all that my stomach roils. We don't know what's going to happen today or tomorrow. We don't know if our dreams are over, if Katniss will rise to the occasion or if someone else might be our rallying point.

The not-knowing is slowly killing us.

When I reach our floor, I hear the soft laughter of the tributes from the dining area. I hurry into my room and close the door. I find a pair of pants and pull them on and look at myself in the mirror. The girl staring back as changed so much. There are dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep and alcohol from the day before. My insides feel like snakes writhing, but on the outside I look normal if tired.

I take my seat in the dining room, and the voices die down because I'm there. I grab a porkchop and mashed potatoes before I ask them, "How bad was it?"

Cyrus turns away, looking embarassed. "I showed I did well with some plants and was able to spear a dummy or two. I showed them I could use an axe somewhat."

I'd seen his axework, it wasn't much. "And you Ela?"

"I think I did well," she says cautiously. "I used the axe and showed that I could climb."

Not enough. "Good," I say.

"No barbs, no sharp remarks?" Ela raises her eyebrows at me. "Have you grown a heart?"

I look at her coolly. "No. Thing is, you're not worth the time or the words. So do us a favour and died already, okay?"

Her face turns crimson and she's mad enough that she tries to lunge across the table at me, but I don't flinch or react. I go about my meal while Haemon sends her to cool off.

A short time later, we make our way into the viewing area and sit on the couch. Haemon pours me a glass of wine as Blight walks in, looking ashen. He takes a glass and holds it in his shaking hands, and for a moment I look at him and see so much more than I've noticed for awhile.

He is sick. His face is ashen, he has lost weight. All of the things I've been too preoccupied to notice all become so clear. The persistent cough, the exhaustion...I put my hand on his arm, and his skin is cold as though it doesn't retain heat as well anymore. I want to ask him what it means. Is he dying? Is there hope? But I don't want to push him, apart of me doesn't want to know at all.

Blight wraps his arm around my shoulder and draws me close to him, kissing my temple lightly. "You remind me of Liam so much today," his voice is so soft I barely hear it.

Together, we sit down and listen to the scores.

The Careers get good scores from 8-10. The numbers pass in a numbing blurr that mean nothing. Cyrus pulls a three and Ela draws a five. She's happier about it than she should be, but I'm not listening to her. The little girl from 11, Rue pulls a 7 and Thresh a mighty 10. Peeta surprises me with his 8. But the true shock of the evening is Katniss.

**__**The 11 flashes brightly across the screen and everything goes silent. The glass breaks in my hand, and wine spills to the floor.


	118. Easier to Hate

**I want to apologize again for not having updated. I am having some health issues, that I won't go into. They will be on-going for the foreseeable future-so maybe months. So please, bear with me because I am going to keep doing this-I just may be slower than before. My hope is to publish the next chapter sometime this coming week.**

**Btw, Jenna Malone rocked my socks-I knew she would.**

_**"**__**One lives in the hope of becoming a memory."  
>― Antonio Porchia<strong>_

The blood drips down my hand and on to the carpet. Verity doesn't dare say a word to me about it. I squeeze my hand tighter, the glass biting into my palms until Acanthus stops me. He unclenches my fist.

"Johanna," his voice is angry, emotional.

I snatch my hand from him, "I don't need your help."

Acanthus face colours, but he jerks my hand back. I pull back my hand to slap him, when someone grabs my wrist. I can feel my wrist bruising beneath the grip, my innate response is to struggle—to fight against whoever holds me. Instead, I take a deep breath and relax my muscles.

"'Anna," Finnick's voice is gentle with me. He let's go of my wrist. "Let me get it Acanthus, go get a medical kit."

Acanthus walks away as Finnick makes me sit. "How'd you get here so quick?" I ask him.

"I saw the scores, I know how you react to things 'Anna," he pulls a large chunk of glass out, causing me to wince. "You're not that hard to figure out." He looks up at me and I bite back a reply. If he was anyone else, I'd snap at him.

How the hell did she get a 11? It's almost unheard of. Could she really be that good? Or were they making her even more of a target? The big scores don't usually last without a pack. She's going to get killed, it's going to be the end of everything—at least, for this year. I don't want to wait another year for some catalyst or years and years.

I hadn't realized until now how much I was depending on this stupid girl or how much I really wanted this. I can't stand this. I want to break things, I want to do anything but sit here and be quiet. I can't—

"Anna," Finnick brings me back to focus on him. "Look at me," he pulls out another chunk of glass. "You need stitches," he dabs away the blood on my hand as I keep looking at him.

My chest is heaving, my heart is pounding hard against my ribs. "I'll do it myself," I rifle through the medical kit to find the curved needle and thread. I remember the moment in the arena when I did this, how tired I was. It's so visceral that I'm thrust back in the arena fighting for my life.

I push the needle through my skin and draw it through. I let out a growl as I push the needle in again, the pain rocking through my body. I can feel the beads of sweat starting as I push the needle through again. Then it's Finnick's hands who are stopping me, drawing me back into reality.

I'm in the Capitol, not the Games. I'm alive, not in the arena. Not _ever _again. He pushes the needle through my skin two more times and then ties it off. He puts a bandage over the skin and I look at it for a moment mesmerized. It's been a long time since I've felt like that, been stuck in the Games again.

"To bed now," Finnick commands my gawking tributes. Acanthus wraps his arm around Ella's waist and leads her away.

I push past all of them and go into my room Finnick following behind me. I stand there in the middle of the room with all the lights on just breathing. Finnick doesn't give me space—not like everyone else does. He comes to me and wraps his arm around my back and one around my head to pull me to him. I just stand there, my mind drifting to Katniss and a world on fire.

Flames dance behind my eyelids as I wake up, and pain shoots through my palm. I sit straight up, Finnick's hand falling from my stomach. I gulp in air and swing my legs to the ground. The room is all darkness and shadows still, dawn is still an hour away.

Finnick moves to get up, "I'm fine Fin. Go back to sleep," he drifts off as I watch him. I close my eyes for a moment then walk out the door silently and get in the elevator. I take the ride up to the roof with my mind reeling. She had actually delivered. Could she really win though? What had she been capable of that made her score higher than Thresh?

She had taken the opposite path of me. I had decided to be underplayed and leave the fear for the arena. They hadn't know what hit them when I came from nowhere, but Katniss…she was playing it deadly.

The elevator doors open and I see the lights of the Capitol dimming. The sounds of voices from the garden reach my ears, the soft giggles of a girl. I avoid them and the garden and head for the edge. I climb up and stand watching the sun as it rises.

The agony of waiting makes this difficult. It's so close I can taste it. If she can pull this off, if she can do this—then I can finally make him pay for Sven, Greta, Ivan, Liam…For my mom and dad, my grandmother. They would have never died if they hadn't been in these…districts. I will burn this tower to the ground, burn it all if I have my way. The whole city would be ash. None of these buildings are worth it, what they mean to us tributes—to those of us from the Districts.

The wind whips around me as I stand there, thinking of the last time that I stood on this edge. I thought that winning would mean something, how wrong I had been then. Winning took everything from me. Maybe if I had lost, maybe they would still be alive…Accidents, beatings, and sickness—how many of those would have been stopped if I had died six years ago?

I climb down and head back to the elevator, the wafting voices reach me over the sound of wind chimes.

"I'm scared," it's Ella's voice, but softer than normal.

"You're going to be fine. You're going to win, then you're going to come home and we'll start our life," Acanthus voice is smooth. She doesn't know that it's a lie.

I board the elevator and go back down to my room.

...

Ella keeps falling off of her heels, over and over again. Verity tries to help her but that fails too. Finally, I stand up in my skin-tight gown and go to her. I stand beside her as she looks at me in terror, "Put the pressure on your toes, not you're heels. Don't look at your feet." I stride across the room and then turn before I give her a challenging stare.

She moves awkwardly at first, then a little more smoothly before falling face down on the floor. "Stand up," I command.

Verity looks at me harshly, "Give her a break Johanna."

I lean down toward Ella, "If you fall like that on stage everyone will laugh. No one will ever sponsor you." I grip her arm and pull her to her feet. She wobbles for a moment then takes a few strides, I can see her chest heaving with rage. She turns back to me eyes snapping as she strides across the floor toward me.

"Like that?" she spits out.

"Perfect," I smile. She doesn't know what to make of that.

When we're done with the dress, Verity schools her on how to sit and look while I stare at her for a long time. As much as I know that she won't last, I'm supposed to give her a way to shine. Acanthus is filling her head with ideas of her winning, making her believe it. She's only got a day to live, and…I was her once.

"When he asks you a question, chin up and stare out at the crowd. Make them think you're powerful. Make them notice you. Get mad before you go on stage, let those eyes snap. Let your rage take over," I explain. "I want you to make them remember you."

Her eyes flash at me for a moment, "I'll just think of you."

I can't help but smile even as my heart aches. I didn't want to like her, didn't want to remember her name. She has to die. But we will be only ones to remember her, there is no one else. It's much easier to just hate them.


	119. Star-Crossed Lovers

**This is the update for this week, next update will not be until AT LEAST Sat. So hope you like this. Everything in bold is a direct quote from the book and is not mine.**

**Also, this chapter gets two quotes. Much love and Happy Thanksgiving!**

"_**Can he love her? Can the soul really be satisfied with such polite affections? To love is to burn - to be on fire, like Juliet or Guinevere or Eloise..." ― **__**Emma Thompson**__**, **__**The Sense and Sensibility Screenplay and Diaries: Bringing Jane Austen's Novel to Film**_

**Second:**

_**As if you could pick in love, as if it were not a lightning bolt that splits your bones and leaves you staked out in the middle of the courtyard. They probably say that they pick her out because-they-love-her, I think it's just the siteoppo. Beatrice wasn't picked out, Juliet wasn't picked out. You don't pick out the rain that soaks you to a skin when you come out of a concert.**_

_**Julio Cortázar**_

Cyrus trembles back stage as Ela fails to flatten the puffiness from her pale blue and white dress. Finally, she gives it up as a lost cause as I stand there sipping a brandy. I glance around at all the tributes.

The girl from one, Glitter-no, Glimmer-is standing proud and unembarrassed in a sheer, curve hugging gold gown. There is very little left to the imagination. The little girl, Acanthus whispers that her name is Rue, is quiet and standing alone. Her dress is made of gossamer white that brings out the lovely hue of her skin. It's the wings that move me though, the way they flutter as she moves like some butterfly-no, a moth.

Even as I look at Rue, I notice her glancing at Katniss in a mesmerized way. The phrase comes to mind, "like a moth to a flame". I knock back the rest of my brandy before heading over to her. To her credit, she doesn't move away from me or run. The big brute from her district looks down at me, his hands clench in the background as though he is willing to defend her.

I kneel down in my tight dress and study her wide beautiful eyes. This child shouldn't be here, shouldn't suffer like this...I want to take her away from her, hide her away from whoever would hurt her. There's a proud jut to her chin as she looks at me.

I put my hand on her cheek and turn her face slightly away from me, then the other way, and then back to my face. I want to say something that will give her an edge, but that's impossible. She has to die for Katniss to win. She has to die.

Letting go of her face, I unclasp the diamond bracelet on my arm and put it on hers. It's comically big, she has to make a fist to keep it from falling off. She looks at me, her eyes a question. All I can say is, "You're not a caterpillar anymore."

I stand up and back away to my group. No one but Thresh seems to have noticed our conversation. He tilts his head at me, but I do not acknowledge him. Back at my tributes, I stand to the side. I can feel the paleness of my face and I touch my stomach with my hand. Ivy comes to mine, the little girl I lost and though it's impossible, in my mind she looks a lot like Rue.

Finally, the tributes take the stage. I can hear the thunderous roaring of the crowd. When I get my seat with Finnick and Acanthus, Glimmer's interview is just about over. There are cat calls, and screams that don't fade away even when she sits down. The male tribute, Marvel, is well anything but a marvel. He's funny enough, likeable even but it's in a dull way. Nothing he says even stays in my mind past the time he says it.

Clove is tiny, but there's a confidence that exudes from her that shows how threatening she is. She is coy but snappy. There's venom in her voice, in the way she moves. She's coiled like a snake ready to strike any weaknesses.

Caesar leans in close like they're sharing some little secret, "So tell me what you're going to do Clove?"

Her lips curl into a cruel smile, "I'm going to win and I'm going to put on the best show the Capitol has _ever_seen."

The crowd goes wild and it doesn't die down when Cato comes up. I grip the arms of my hair without meaning to, he looks so much like his brother-so much like Harris. It's everything I can do not to go back to my Games. He's vicious, ruthless. Cato talks about how he'll do it, how he'll kill each person. He tells it with a kind of relish, like he can't wait. His eyes flick to me in the crowd and he blows me a kiss.

It's only because Finnick and Acanthus have anticipated my reaction that they can hold me back from flinging myself at Cato.

The girl from three is a simpering fool. The boy though, he's intelligent. I know, better than most just how intelligent and terrifying those from three can be. He leaves a faint impression on my mind, but there is something there that I can't quite put my finger on.

The girl from four talks about her home, about how she's eager to get back. She is vibrant and beautiful all done up, but there's no substance there-no words that catch or make her memorable at all. The boy is the same. Finnick's kids aren't going to do well this year-good.

The girl from five has vivid dark hair, she is painfully quiet. Caesar has to coax her to talk louder every question and I can still barely hear her. But what I do hear is intelligent and succinct, if she hadn't been reaped she'd have a good career back in her district. Another life wasted.

The boy from five and the pair from six slip by. I can't even focus on their stupid pathetic words. There's no real meat to them, they're just...lacking. When Ela comes on in her blue and white dress, she is serious and stony faced. She carries herself well. Caesar asks her a question about how does she think her odds are being from lowly District 7.

Her eyes find me in the audience, her nostrils flare and she looks back at him. "Five years ago, a girl came weeping on this stage. You dismissed her, and she killed eight people," the audience holds their breath. "You shouldn't dismiss me."

The crowd claps hard for her, but Cyrus plays up the tragedy. He knows he doesn't have a chance, so instead he goes with what he's feeling. "Do you think you have a chance?" Caesar asks him kindly.

"No," the crowd gasps as he looks over the crowd. "I can only hope that…" He fumbles for the words, "That something about me will be memorable. I want something I do to be worthwhile. It's not too much to ask, is it? To be remembered?"

Caesar is touched by his sincerity, and the crowd is silent as he leaves. Eight comes and goes, no one noticeable. I keep looking back over at Cyrus but he won't even look up now. He's too lost in himself. Ela looks at him, and I know she wants to comfort him but she doesn't want to break the facade so she lets him suffer alone.

The boy from ten is so shy, he can barely stammer out the words to answer. He hobbles back to his seat, and I see that some people are touched by how he will be unable to really fight like the others.

Then it's Rue who flutters out on to the stage, the little moth that flies too close to the sun. In ancient myths a man named Icarus does that.

"I know that you're scared," Caesar starts. "But maybe it would make you feel better to tell me about your family?" I want to bolt and run, scratch out my ears and eyes so that I don't have to be a witness to this atrocity. I don't want to hear it, but I do...I do.

"I have four sisters and a brother, they're all-" She looks at him sadly, "I miss them terribly." Her voice is tremulous as he steers her away to another question.

"What do you think your best attribute, your greatest strength in the arena?"

She doesn't miss a beat, "**I'm very hard to catch."**I see her hand is still in a fist to keep the diamond bracelet on her wrist. "**And if they can't catch me, they can't kill me. So don't count me out."**

The look on her face grips my heart, makes anything that anyone said before seem pale in comparison. I can hear the silent "yet" hanging on the end of her sentence. It's only a matter of time till she is gone.

Caesar himself is moved to tears, and for the first time, I think they might be real. "**I wouldn't in a million years,"**his voice is soft, a slight tremble in it. In awe, everyone watches her flutter away.

Thresh comes to the stage and he overcomes everything with his sheer power and dominance. Caesar comes at him from every angle, but somehow Thresh always answers with yes or no, never another word. He looks and acts downright pissed to be here.

Good for him.

Katniss comes forward and the effect is instantaneous. As she walks, it looks like her body is being engulfed in flames. It makes just the perfect statement.

Caesar begins, "**So, Katniss, the Capitol must be quite a change from District Twelve. What's impressed you most since you arrived here?"**

I wait for her response, but when she looks out over us I can see her swallowing. This is going to be great, our great catalyst fixing to choke up on live television. Her eyes are searching desperately, and I can see fear there despite the mask she's putting up.

Her face relaxes slightly, "**The lamb stew."**

The audience warms up a little, but it's like watching a train wreck or a replay of a clip from the Hunger Games. You can see what's about to happen, and you want to turn away but you just...can't.

"**The one with the dried plums?"**She nods her head a bit vigoursly at him. "**Oh, I eat it by the bucketful." **Then he does this bit about his figure, like we don't all know that he gets the fat sucked out and facelifts and polishes every year. I tune him out for a minute, bored already.

"**Now Katniss,"**he leans in like they're going to share a private conversation. "**When you came out in the opening ceremonies, my heart actually stopped. What did you think of that costume?"**

This time Katniss replies quicker, so she doesn't look like a total idiot. "**You mean after I got over my fear of being burned alive?"**This time even I laugh. The audience, and more importantly the sponsors, are warming up to her.

"**Yes. Start then,"** Caesar plies her.

Her face smooths and I can see the sincerity in her poise, and hear it in her words. "**I thought Cinna was brilliant and it was the most gorgeous costume I'd ever seen and I couldn't believe I was wearing it. I can't believe I'm wearing this, either."**She plays with the skirt of her dress, her fingers moving over the gems and making the bottom blaze like fire.

Everyone is eating this up, but all I can this is, _Is this it?_

"**I mean, look at it," **she goes on. She seems so...not anything like the girl from the reaping. It's like she's a cardboard cut-out, a caricature.

Suddenly, she starts to spin and the effect is dazzling even if what she's said so far isn't it. She looks as though she's being consumed in fire-yet, not burned. It's a powerful symbol if she can follow through.

"**Oh, do that again!"**Caesar begs. She spins again with her arms up, and again. "**Don't stop!"**

She giggles. She..._giggles?_ "**I have to, I'm dizzy." **

This is the girl we're placing our hope on? A spinning, vapid little girl?

Caesar helps her, "**Don't worry, I've got you. Can't have you following in your mentor's footsteps." **The laughter is genuine again, everyone knows about Haymitch. For his part, he plays it off cool and sober.

I lose some of Caesar's words in the laughter**, "E-le-ven. Give us a hint what happened in there?" **He prods her, tries to goad her into speaking.

I feel myself leaning forward, I haven't got to talk to Haymitch. I want to know what she did to get taht 11. "**Um… All I can say, is I think it was a first."**

There's some exchange about the legality of her talking. It gives her an air of mystery, but it still doesn't do much for me.

Caesar pulls another of his favourite questions, "**Let's go back then, to the moment they called your sister's name at the reaping and you volunteered. Can you tell us about her?"**

I see her face closing, the fire is there again strong and deadly in her eyes. No longer a stupid, vapid excuse for a tribute. This is the meat of it.

She looks in the audience, and her eyes focus on something there or in the distance, or maybe in her mind. I don't know. "**Her name's Prim," **her voice is steady and strong. "**She's just twelve. And I love her more than anything."**

Deadly silence.

"**What did she say to you? After the reaping?"**His voice is low so that he doesn't break the spell.

I can see her swallow, trying to shut out everything struggling with whether to say something or refuse. "**She asked me to try really hard to win,"**I find myself leaning forward, but I'm not the only one.

"**And what did you say?"**

Her muscles tense, she is absolutely still. There's an odd combination of ice and fire. Her dress shimmers like flames, but her eyes are cold like a hunter. Her voice is low, "**I swore I would."**

He dismisses her, but most of it is drowned out in applause.

Peeta comes on, and he makes us eat out of the palm of his hand. Even I like him, and that's saying something. He talks about breads and tributes. Caesar and him go on this whole tirade about shower mishaps, and take turns smelling each other. Not a lot of substance, but they love him.

Why couldn't Katniss have done this well?

Caesar shifts to him, "So tell me is there a girl back home waiting for you? There must be. I mean look at him!" Everyone applauds.

There's uncertainty on his face. He just shakes his head feebly.

"**Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl,"**everyone is screaming, wanting to know. This is it. This is what Haymitch prepared us for. "**Come on, what's her name?"**

His voice is halting, slow. There is a sincerity there, but also-I can tell that he's playing it up, just enough. "**Well, there is this one girl, I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."**

People "oh" and "aw" him. But I know what's coming and the suspense is killing me.

"**She have another fellow?"**Caesar asks with mock disdain.

"**I dont' know, but a love of boys like her,"**Peeta responds. I look at Katniss. While she's pretty enough, I haven't seen anything of much interest there.

"**So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?"**Everyone cheers like this is the best idea ever. I suppress a smirk.

"**I don't think it's going to work out. Winning...won't help in my case."**Everyone leans forward at his words, eager to be in on the secret.

Caesar looks genuinely stunned. "**Why ever not?"**

Peeta's face turns red, and I can see him struggle for a moment to get the words out. "**Because…**"I lean forward. "**Because...she came here with me."**

Katniss is shocked, and so is the audience. She drops her head down quickly and doesn't look up. Everyone is fanning themselves and so interested in them now-in her. I block out the rest of the words as I watch this Peeta.

I have never seen a response evoked so calmly and so beautifully before. Everyone is talking, everyone is excited. Before I realize it, the show is ended and Acanthus is guiding me back to our tributes.

I wonder, if Peeta Mellark, knows what he just did? If somehow he sees what he's made Katniss? Because it is his words, and not hers that will make her unforgettable tonight.

Yet, it strikes me. He loves her. He _really _does. And already, he's helping her to win.

God, the poor fool loves her.


	120. I'll Remember You

**Apologies, I have bronchitis. Also, I've been noticing that some of my stories are having typos crop up AFTER I post them. I know that some typos are my fault, I'm not saying I'm perfect. But there are places that are having very odd...paragraph structure, indenting or garbled words. I'm working on fixing them (but then something else garbles. **

**Districts of Hunger will be updated today or tomorrow, much love!**

_**"Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up."**_

_**― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones**_

Ela knows that she's not made as big of an impression as she hopes. By the time we get up the stairs in the Training Center, her bottom lip trembles. I'd hoped the bravado would keep her going, but she knows now that her death is all but inevitable without funds. We all head to the dining room.

Haemon looks them both over, "You two should get some rest." His voice is commanding, yet kind. There is no hint in his voice that he's written her off.

Ela hesitates. Her face turns scarlet and her voice is barely a whisper as she looks up at Acanthus, "I don't want to go alone…"

"Of course not," Acanthus smiles at her and pulls her to him. Her facade is faltering and she's looking for comfort in his arms. They're about to walk off when I stop them.

"Wait," I open up a decanter of whiskey and pour a finger into two glasses and hand them to Ela and Cyrus. "It'll just help you sleep. It's fine." Ela hesitates for a moment, but Cyrus downs it without hesitation.

Ela sips it for a moment before Acanthus guides her down the hall to her room and they disappear inside. Cyrus watches them go for a moment, and then puts his glass down. There's something about the set of his shoulders that reminds me of Wren. It's why I say it, the same thing I said to Wren.

"I'll remember you," I say.

He stops then turns to me, "What?"

"I'll remember you. It's what you asked for," I watch as he smiles weakly. "But don't give up yet," my voice is soft.

"I won't, I'll try...but I know how this ends," but it's not Cyrus I see when he says it. I see Wren and I see Ivy-both accepting their fates. I ball my fist up to keep myself from shaking. He looks at me with warm brown eyes, and I'm taken back to the train-to the simple squeeze of my hand from an avox who'd given me a sense of hope, the acknowledgment that someone believed in me.

And for a moment, he's not Cyrus-he's Liam too. He's my brother going off and promising to come back if he can but in the end it was just empty words. It's the only promise he ever broke. "They won't forgive you if you don't try," and it's Cyrus looking at me again.

He looks at me a moment, "Thank you." Then he turns on his heels and leaves.

After he's gone, I can't shake off the restless feeling. This is the night before everything-the night before the seventy-fourth games begin and possibly something that will change our entire world. It's hard to sit on the brink, the edge, teetering and waiting for the fall. Haemon and Blight are calm. When I can't stand it anymore I go to the control room. When I arrive, I find that I'm not the only one who had the idea. There's Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria, Coral, Tristan, Belvedere, Anglo from 6, Beetee, Kish from 9, and Finnick.

"What, no one invites me to the party?" I saunter in. Cashmere scoots over on her seat and I sit on one side while Kish pours drinks all around. No one waits for anyone to toast or anything like that. We just drink unceremoniously.

"Knew you'd be here sooner or later," Finnick smiles while pouring himself another glass of vodka and then pouring one for me then Cashmere.

Cashmere downs the glass with a neat practiced flick of her wrist. I can see the bags under her eyes, the dark circles that speak of sleepless nights. I remember the child that was ripped from her arms, and the hollow woman she was after it happened. I think of Ivy who grew in my stomach, whose gender I didn't even know till she was gone. I wonder if she ever got to hold her child? What kind of terror does she live in day to day? Does Snow torment her with pictures of the child? Does he remind her to stay in line because her actions will come back on the child?

I don't even realize I say it before it's out of my mouth, "What was it?"

Cashmere's eyes are glazed over, but she knows what I mean. Her lips start to form a word, then struggle, and then reform it. "Boy," she holds out her glass. "I'm drunk not enough," Finnick fills her glass.

Anglo shoots up in the corner, his eyes rolling back in his head as Noralee from his district pushes the same needle into her arm. Beetee is rubbing Tristan's shoulders while Coral stares through the bottom of her glass.

The hours creep by and more and more Victors fall silent. The loud circle gets closer, each of us kind of drawing to each other. It's like this sometimes before a game, we want to be close to others who've been through it even if we hate them.

Enobaria's pointed teeth glint in the harsh white light of the room, but even those points look less feral now. Her face is open, raw, and pained as she relives her nightmares. One look at her shows that she's sleeping with her eyes open, her eyes flicking from side to side in REM cycle. I wonder what nightmares are like when you're Enobaria? Is she haunted by the throats she ripped or the ones she didn't?

Noralee stands up and sways as if to music. Her skin is sallow, and she stumbles while humming and dancing. It's too late for her, but it's not too late for me. I still have a life to live.

"What did you name yours?" I turn toward Cashmere's voice. Her words are slurred, but distinguishable. "I named mine Jasper, for myself." Her eyes try to focus in on me, "I don't know what they named him, but he's Jasper. My Jasper."

I don't answer her, I just look away. She tries to get me to share, but I won't. Finally, her brother lifts her up as she sobs out Jasper's name over and over as she's carried away. Soon after, the rest of us drift out of the room.

I cling to Finnick, my feet stumbling and eyes blurred as we make our way to his room. We lay down beside each other, not even touching-just staring at the ceiling. There are thousands of things I want to say but can't. Instead, I move my pinky slightly and he hooks his with mine.

All I can think of is Liam laying there dying and how everything I believed and hoped in had died with him. I had always known he was coming back, known that he would be there for me forever. Life couldn't take him too, but it had. And Greta. And Sven. And Grandma. And Ivan. And Ivy.

The tears leak out of the corner of my eyes, and Finnick somehow knows because he pulls me closer to him. I bury my face into his warm shoulder. Even here in the Capitol he smells like salt and sea.

Even with him as my anchor, I am adrift in an ocean of painful memories.

_Liam shows me how to climb a tree. When I fall, he sits down beside me and blows on my skinned elbow. The soft lilt of his voice soothes me. I feel safe with him, not the kind of safe where I'll never hurt-but the kind where I'll never be alone or hopeless. Safe._

"_Why don't I have blue eyes?" I ask him. I have always wanted to have blue eyes like him._

"_Because you have brown, like Grandpa-like Dad," he sees my crestfallen face. "Brown eyes are just as beautiful, 'Anna."_

"_I don't want brown eyes, I want blue like you." The tears fall down my face, and I hate them. I brush at them, trying to hide them from him._

"_But I've always wanted brown ones like you," his voice is soft and his rough hands are gentle as he brushes at my tears._

"_Really?" I ask him sniffing._

"_Yes," he kisses my forehead. "Your eyes are like the forest, like the woods of District 7. Whenever I look into your eyes, all I can think of is home."_

_Home._

"'Anna," Finnick's voice is gentle. "You can talk to me about him," his voice breaks.

"How did you know I was thinking about him?" I question.

"I know you better than anyone," he pauses. "Your breathing hitches, sometimes you touch your heart. But you always give a sigh-a broken, tiny sigh no one else would notice."

"But you do," I whisper. "You never talk about him." His brother, the one that died two years after he won. "You've never told me."

"Joseph," his voice breaks. "He was fourteen. He drowned, got caught in a net. I couldn't get him free. I saw it happen, but I couldn't...cut him free."

I throw my leg over his hip and pull his body closer as he buries his face into my neck now. My voice is low, "Liam died before my eyes. I was...in the Districts. I couldn't even try to help him. You got to try. I know it doesn't make up for it happening. Nothing ever will."

"This is enough," he sobs out, holding on to me.

"I'm here, always. I promise. I won't ever abandon you," I whisper.

"I won't either," his voice is muffled against my skin. "Tell me, tell me about him."

So I do.


	121. The Inevitable

**Sorry this is late, had some spotty internet issues and we were away for a super short and fun 2 day vacay to Disney. I will be updating again probably Sat/Sunday. The DOR chapter will be up as soon as I get someone to beta it (aka when hubs gets home from work.)**

**_You think the truth is this big shiny disco ball of purity then go ahead and try it. See what it gets you. Telling the truth to the wrong person at the wrong time is how I ended up where I did. Take it from me you're always better off with a really good lie. _**

**_Alison Dilaurentis, Pretty Little Liars_**

We whisper over the next few hours. I'm not even sure what I'm saying-I'm just talking about Liam and not thinking about anything. My lips move of their own volition, and so does Finnick's. I grasp at the memories he shares with me. Some of them stay, and some of them only make faint impressions or imprints of whom Joseph was.

He was younger by two years. They could pass as twins. It was Finnick's first year of being the Capitol's plaything when Joseph died. He doesn't say whether or not it was on Snow's orders-maybe he doesn't know. In the end, it doesn't matter whether he did or not because Joseph had gone alone when Finnick would have been there. If he hadn't been in the Games, he would have still been in that boat with him. It's just like with Sven and Greta. I don't know if Snow did it, whether it was an order or not. Was it an accident? Was it by design?

It doesn't matter. I wasn't there because of Snow. I should have been there. I could have stopped it. I should have stopped it.

"Stop," Finnick's voice is tired. "You're trying to figure it out again," he whispers into the darkness. "You can't figure it out, I know I've been doing it longer."

"Nothing makes sense," I pull myself tighter to him.

"Nothing," he echoes.

There's a thudding noise that rouses me from my sleep. I find myself on the floor, my hand searching for an axe blade that isn't there as I realize it's someone knocking on the door.

Not the arena.

I see Finnick kneeling in bed holding his pillow as if to launch it like a spear. I can't help but laugh at him, and he at me when we see how ridiculous we are. But it's short-lived as the door opens and Tristan comes in.

"It's going to be launch in thirty," his eyes are bloodshot and his hands are shaking. "Better get going," he disappears out of the room.

I get to my feet and pull my hair up into a knot at the back of my neck. Finnick changes into some fresh pants and a blue button up shirt. I toss off my old clothes and Finnick hands me one of his dark blue shirts. I pull it on and search for my shoes, a spindly pair of stilettos resting a few feet away.

I slip my feet into them when Finnick stops me, "What about pants?" His eyes twinkle.

"Who needs pants?" I smirk at him as I fix the collar of his shirt. His eyes are stormy today, the beautiful sea green darker than normal. There is pain in them, I run my fingers through his hair and push it off his face. The gesture is soothing to him, has always been. Sometimes, I wonder who it was that first did this to him? Who was it that makes him close his eyes as I run my fingers through his hair? Who is it that he's being reminded of?

He kisses the top of my forehead, and I close my eyes. It is Liam's lips pressing to my head. I am eleven years old. Nothing is wrong because Liam is there.

And when I open my eyes, he's gone and Finnick is there. It's not a disappointment, or a sadness that fills me but rather a sort of longing. I may never get to spend days or weeks with Finnick. I may never stay at his home and get to know the people there. All we have is stolen moments when we are trying to pretend we are invincible, invulnerable to Snow's requests. It's strange that I can know so much of him and so little-that we can both wear our masks and know exactly what is going on below the surface.

In less than five minutes, we're down in Control. One glance around shows me that everyone is basically here. There's Veda-the lone sober Victor from six trying to drown out the addicts from her District. Cashmere and Gloss are draining coffee like it's water. Most of the others are milling around the room using soft hushed voices.

I grab up a cup of black coffee while Finnick fills his with six sugar cubes. "Why don't you just take the bowl?" Cashmere's voice snaps. She hands him the bowl more gently than her words, her eyes rimmed with red and her face devoid of make-up.

"Think I will," he picks up the bowl and carries it over to his station. I sit beside him and watch him plop sugar cubes in his mouth as the coffee helps to wake me up.

Both of us turn when Haymitch comes in. Finnick lets out a low whistle and my mouth falls open a little. "He's actually here, and dressed," I say. "What do you know, hell has frozen over." I eye the clean clothes he has. As he walks by, I grab his cup and sniff it.

"Are you done yet?" He raises an eyebrow at me.

"There's no alcohol in it," I answer.

"I am very aware of the fact," he pulls the cup back from me and disappears.

"Never thought I'd see it," Finnick plops another sugar cube in his mouth. He puts his hands on his chest in a shocked fashion, "Are we all dead?"

I laugh at him and get to me feet making my way toward my station. When I get there, reality crashes back on me in the form of Acanthus. His eyes are bloodshot, and he holds a glass with a shot of whiskey in it.

I lean over to Haemon, "Can you get the envelope in my room?" He nods his head and takes off as I sit down beside Acanthus.

"I didn't drink it," his voice is hoarse. "I just...need it here with me."

I take the glass out of his hand, pry his fingers away, taking in his red rimmed eyes. "The Games," I pause.

"No, _her_," his voice chokes off. "I just...I held her and told her it was okay. I told her that everything was fine that we would have a life together. Now I get to watch her die. I can't do this."

"You told her what you had to. Listen to me Acanthus, the lie was better. It was easier. It'll be over before she realizes it's a lie. And you have to keep on doing this," I say.

"I don't though, I could just not. I could-"

"And what about Caine?" His eyes flicker up to me. "Are you going to let your son grow up like that? Are you going to just let him get served up on a platter to Snow? Let him go to the Games unprepared? Because you're fooling yourself if you think he's going to escape the Games. And I'm not cleaning up your mess, I'm not going to raise him if you give up and overdose or drink yourself to death. I'm not your mother, I'm not your family."

Haemon walks in and I wave him over to me as Acanthus screams, "What the hell happened to kind lies?"

"Victor's don't get to have kind lies, we tell them even cruel ones. We survive Acanthus. Get it through your head now," I jerk the envelope from Haemon's hand. "I got this for you ingrate."

I turn toward the screens and look at the measly funds we have-not that we'll need them. If either of them make it past the blood bath, it'll be a miracle. I see Acanthus open the envelope out of the corner of my eye and I get up and stalk off to the coffee.

I'd asked for a favour from Raven, something I've rarely done before. He'd gotten the ultrasound of Acanthus' other son with ease. I'd stared at it for a long time, seeing his perfect little fingers and toes. I'd never gotten to see my daughter like this.

It was the first time since I lost her that I thought maybe-one day, I would want another child. But that was fleeting, because there were the Games and the Rebellion. A lot to live through before I could even consider having another child. And then, I would think of her and how I never saw her smile-never saw her at all.

I sip the black coffee and make my way back towards my station. I sit down heavily, breathe deeply and watch the screens.

Acanthus opens up his mouth, struggling for words, but I ignore him. Maybe he talks, or maybe he gives up-I don't know. I don't listen. Before long, they're showing the arena. It looks actually liveable this year.

Everyone falls to silence as the tributes come up. I glance around at how they're arranged, identify our tributes. Acanthus is asking Blight what to do, and Blight tells him that this is the time to wait. There's nothing we can do because this is the part that's left up to the tributes.

I watch Katniss Everdeen, and I locate Peeta Mellark. The TV zooms in on the spoils, and there displayed proudly is a set of bow and arrows-bait for the girl. The clock ticks down,and the gong sounds.

Katniss stumbles off her block, but I drag my eyes away from her and watch Cyrus and Ela. Cyrus and Ela are running into the fray towards the weapons. It seals their fate. I don't look for Katniss or for Peeta, I keep my eyes on them because I know it won't be long now.

Cyrus grabs a spear showing more spirit than he did in his entire stay in the Capitol. I watch him wield it, fear showing in his eyes. He makes the stupid move-toward the hulking giant Thresh. He's cut down with a clean cut across his throats. There's a small blip, and his monitor goes silent.

Cyrus Janders lasted two minutes and eight seconds.

My eyes flicker towards Ela. She's struggling with the boy from District 3, fighting over a backpack. The boy let's go and she stumbles backwards, falling backwards. Like blood in the water, one of the careers comes to focus on her-the boy from one, Marvel. She flips to her stomach and crawls quickly, trying to get her feet under her to go.

Just as her body comes off the ground to run, Marvel's spear pierces her body and she falls limp to the ground.

There's a small blip, and her time of death appears on the screen. Ela Gertz, two minutes and thirty one seconds.

The Games are over for District Seven.

I turn to Acanthus, "I was wrong. They did last two minutes," I get up from my chair to refill my coffee.


	122. A Victor's Responsibillities

Happy New Year! Hope you like this chapter, and I'll be updating across the boards soon!

_**"**__**I quickly remember what Finn taught me about how to get what you want from people: pay attention to them, figure out what they want and what they're afraid of." **_

_**― **__**Cristin Terrill**__**, **__**All Our Yesterdays**_

"He looks like a kicked puppy," I plop a sugar cube in my mouth.

Finnick raises his eyebrow, "Are you sure we're looking at the same thing?" He nods toward Haymitch.

"He doesn't know what to do anymore," I answer. It'd be pathetic if he wasn't coaching she-who-is-all-our-hopes-and-dreams. "He can't have much funds. Does he even know how to operate a computer?"

"I don't know if he ever learned," Finnick eats another sugar cube as we saunter over.

I motion to Acanthus and he meets us over at Haymitch's station. Acanthus eyes are a little red, but he's holding it together. I flop in the chair beside Haymitch as he watches the screens. He is engrossed in the video.

Finnick sits on my lap as we watch the screens. The bloodbath is finally ending, and the cannon booms. Katniss pauses for a moment then goes on, but Peeta is standing at the edge of the trees. I can see his pulse racing on the monitor. Haymitch isn't watching Katniss-he's watching Peeta.

The cameras focus in, Peeta waits for them as they clean off their blades. He looks up, he knows there's a camera watching. On his knees in front of him is the boy from three. What the hell is going on?

He's going to join them-the careers. He's going to get himself killed. I don't know why it matters, why I care since all our hopes are pinned on the girl. Then his eyes turn, and I see the blue. Just like Liam. He's playing a dangerous game. He's Peeta, but my heart still cries out a warning for my Liam.

Liam.

My heart sinks as I watch him. The careers move toward him slowly ready to kill him. The little one from two-Clove-is walking with a swagger up to him. "Well, well. Two for the price of one. Giving up already? You're making it so easy, there's hardly any sport in that."

Peeta talks, his voice doesn't waver. "I want to join you." There's blood on him, a bruise on his arm. His muscles ripple-I've severely underestimated him.

"And what's that?" Cato laughs at the boy from three. "Are you expecting to impress us with that boy? Is this an offering?" They're all laughing.

I can hear Beetee cursing from across the room. He knows what's coming, his tribute is going to-

"Tell them," Peeta says. He nudges the boy's back making the knife dig into his throat.

"I can use them."

"What?" Marvel, the tall boy from One looks confused. I can hear the deafening silence in the room, everyone is holding their breath.

"The mines from the launch plates, I can move them," the boy from Three spits out.

I inhale sharply, Finnick is out of my lap and standing. "He can't do that," Finnick is saying. "He can't do that, can he?" He walks several feet away and looks at Beetee who's holding his head in his hands. "He can't do that, right?"

His voice is muffled, but loud since no one talks, "He can."

I find my feet, my extremities tingle. My breath catches in my chest, Acanthus drops his coffee cup and it shatters at his feet splattering my bare legs in feet in hot liquid. He doesn't apologize, and I don't move.

The boy from three is a wildcard, he changes everything. Are they going to even allow him to do it? What are the Careers going to say.

"You can?" Glimmer's voice is bright, questioning.

Peeta nods towards the Cornucopia, "He can put mines around it, you can protect your stash while we hunt. If anyone tries it, it'll blow them to hell."

It takes the careers a moment to recover, but then Clove smiles, "I like it. But you're still unnecessary," she says. Which he is, they don't need him.

"You need me," Peeta doesn't flinch. His voice doesn't waver at all. I recognize the tone, it's the one Finnick uses to coax secrets out of clients and money out of pockets. "She left me behind. I wanted to join up with you, but she didn't." He puts hurt into his voice.

My God, who is this boy? I hadn't expected this of Peeta. I'd already marked him as a casualty, but here he is keeping all of Panem captive with his words.

Cato smiles and pulls Clove aside. Glimmer looks up at him and Marvel leans in where Peeta can't hear them. "We'll take them both. It's a good plan," he smiles. I see hints of his brother in that smile.

Stop, don't think of your games.

"Peeta isn't worth anything," Clove whispers.

"He is," Glimmer hisses back. "He'll lead us to _her._"

Clove thinks about it for a moment, "First sign that he's useless, he's mine."

Peeta stands there calmly as they talk, he has to know what they're saying-it's a trap. He'll never make it out alive. There's not much reason to side with the Careers, they're notorious for killing off people when they're no longer useful. Outliers always go first. Unless-

"You told him to do that, didn't you?" Acanthus asks Haymitch.

"It was his own idea," Haymitch blinks slowly. "I just told him how to survive it. The boy from three was luck though."

"So what does he plan on doing? Killing all the careers himself so she can go home?" I scoff.

"No, but he'll have one chance if she needs it to stop them. He'll have the best chance of finding her with them," Haymitch's voice is steady.

Finnick sighs, "It's a very dangerous game. He's not going to live through it."

"Doesn't matter," Haymitch stands to stretch his legs. "It's not what he wanted."

"And you care so much about what your tributes want," I huff and roll my eyes. "You're going to need money. They're good for now, but one of them is going to need it eventually."

"I know," Haymitch's voice is soft.

"You can wait for the money, hope that it comes in when the stakes go up and hope they don't need it before then," Finnick pauses. "But you're going to need it sooner than that-they always do. You should have been laying ground work before the games, making connections so you know who to pander to now that the Games are here."

"I didn't expect to be sober," Haymitch's voice is bitter. " don't have any contacts, I don't know people how you do Finnick. No one will be interested in what I have to offer," his eyes are flashing. For possibly the first time since he's been a mentor he cares that he can't provide for his tributes.

"Can you still get it up?" I ask pointedly.

"Yes," he growls.

"Then we know people," Finnick responds stopping Haymitch and I from escalating into a fight.. "You can't do anything for them right now. Acanthus can take over the station. 'Anna and I can take you around the usual places, maybe fish a few coins out pockets. But you know talking won't be eno-"

"I know," Haymitch says as he straightens his suit jacket. "I'll do whatever or whoever it takes."

…

It takes an hour for Finnick to coach Haymitch, ply him with just enough alcohol to be less antsy but not drunk, for me to get dressed, and for us to get in the limo headed toward Olympus. Finnick helps me pin up some loose hair as I speak to Haymitch.

"Remember," I put my hand gently on Haymitch's arm. "You want to break the touch barrier, first-don't encroach on their space too much. Whenever you talk about your tributes, touch them again or smile. You want them to associate your tributes with positive gestures. You have to bring the conversation around to money, when you do make more pronounced moves." I let my hand fall on his thigh, "They'll immediately connect sponsoring tributes with other rewards. Lean in close, like a secret. They love that."

Finnick cuts in, "Mirror their movements. If you appear in sync with their movements they'll think you're a good match-similar to them. Deflect questions on them, make them feel good about themselves. If they want to hear your stories-talk about them. Start with an outline, then gauge what they want to hear. You need to reel in as much money as you can before going home with one of them unless it's a big score."

I straighten Haymitch's tie, "When you've got them in the palm of your hand you give them the reader. They'll swipe a little card and put in how much they are donating. Don't lose it," Finnick chides him.

Grabbing a glass, I pour it to the top. "Drink it, we're almost there."

"What is this place anyways?"

Finnick's face darkens and I answer for him. "It's a Victor's hangout. The owner kicks back some money or drugs or whatever catches a Victor's fancy to get them to come here."

"Great, they'll all get to watch me do this."

We walk into Olympus and before we can even get a drink people are touching Finnick. Some of them are so bold as to kiss his lips or his neck, others touch his hand or his arm. He smiles that smile of his, the one reserved for clients and reels them in slowly.

"I don't think you've ever met Haymitch have you, Cynthia?" The woman is older than us, thirties probably. Her dark hair is pulled back in a long braid. Her orange dress sparkles and she shifts-I'm sure she's wearing it because it reminds her of flames.

"Your tribute is that girl, The Girl on Fire? Katniss Everdeen?" Her voice lifts in odd places in that aggravating Capitol accent, the words sounding so clipped and foreign.

Finnick passes her off to Haymitch subtly, and Haymitch touches her hand without glancing away from her eyes. "She is," his voice is softer. He doesn't manage a smile, but his smirk will do. "Your dress, it reminds me of her. Tell me, have you worn it before? Cinna must have used it for inspiration."

"She's so very interesting," the woman is flustered for a moment. "Oh no, I got it because of her. She's so unusual." She blushes again.

Haymitch's thumb rubs circles on the back of her hand, "We haven't even scratched the surface yet."

"What do you mean?" Her heavily painted eyes flutter.

He leans closer, his other hand falling on her waist. "That Eleven."

Finnick cuts in, "Haymitch you can't talk about that."

"Oh please do," Cynthia begs.

Their little talk goes on and on, as I order a drink and scout out more easy marks. Before long, Haymitch has a small gaggle of women standing by him telling him they "had no idea he was so charming" and "that's how she got the eleven!" Which I highly doubt was the real story-no one gets that high of a mark for just shooting arrows all over the place. But it didn't matter, all that mattered was there was enough truth in that lie.

By the end of an hour, Finnick is talking sweetly with a frail young woman whose skin is a magnificent hue of pink. She makes me think of lipstick smeared on her skin. It's Cynthia though that Haymitch leaves with. He's collected a tidy little sum, and if he performs well enough he'll get more from her.

We Victor's call it a tipping service.

Finnick orders a drink beside me and wraps arm around me. I turn into him and I am overwhelmed with the subtle smell of sea, air, and salt. I don't know how he can smell like that so far from home. Maybe it's part of the magic that's Finnick-if only I believed in magic.

"You should head back," his voice pinches a little at the end. He has a client. I know he doesn't really need much funds for his tributes-if they're even alive, I didn't even bother to ask. I don't want him to leave me, I don't want him to go off and be touched by that tube of lipstick.

But this is his life, just as I have mine with Raven. I am lucky to well-cared for, not having to sleep around all the time. Very lucky and also ashamed. I'm happy to escape it, but at the same time-I'm ashamed that I do, that I'm not having to do what the other's do. I'm letting Finnick go through this alone.

"'Anna," his voice is soft. "Don't worry, I'll see you soon." His arm untangles from around me and he disappears into the crowd. I already feel empty and cold without him, as though a part of me is missing. Honestly though, it is.

Finnick is a part of me, always.

I exit Olympus, my mind deep in thoughts as I wait for the limo to come around. The irony isn't lost on me-Olympus, club or bar or whatever it is, for the gods. We victors who are worshipped as such from a far, but fallen enough to be in their beds-to do unspeakable things, to fall even further while being raised up so high.

The car pulls up, and I step forward then back when I realize it's not the same car. The door opens, and a man stands there staring at me. Past him, I can see the last person in the world I want to talk to.

President Snow.


	123. The Beginning of the End

**First off, apologies-I'm having some difficulties with chapter posting, namely some words are getting scrambled or omitted, so far I can't figure out how/why. Every time I try to fix it, it messes up other stuff...**

**Also, this chapter-apologies in advance to Charmchaser...sorry. **

**_The feelings got lost in my lungs_**

**_They're burning, I'd rather be numb_**

**_And there's no one else to blame (no one else)_**

**_So scared I take off and i run_**

**_I'm flying too close to the sun_**

**_And I burst into flames_**

**_Lyrics to Heart Attack by Demi Lovato_**

My hands ball into fists at my sides, the nails biting deep into the skin of my palm. I know that my face pales when I see him, I know that it shows my fear and I hate myself for it. I also hate the fact that half of me wants to run. The other half of me is livid, trying to think of weapons that I can use to kill him.

Instead, I smooth my face like I often do the front of my dress as he spoke. "Ms. Mason, take a ride with me," his voice is crisp and even, devoid of the many inflections of most of the populace of the Capitol. He reaches his hand out to me, inviting me in as though I really have a choice.

I take his hands, letting my blood stained nails dig into his flesh as I slide into the car beside him. The door closes and the car moves, but he doesn't let go of my hand for a moment. Snow looks boldly into my eyes, searching and I stare back defiantly. Finally, he releases my hand.

The heady smell of roses makes my stomach roil, makes that tightness in my chest squeeze tighter. He doesn't speak or make any effort to as he takes out a small white handkerchief. I can't help but notice how plain it looks as he wipes the blood from his palms onto it. He coughs, covering his mouth with the cloth then quickly folds it closed. Before he does though, I see it-the small dots of blood from his mouth.

I don't know what to make of that, but I can't keep quiet any longer. "What do you want?"

"So rude, Ms. Mason, but you never did have manners," he puts the cloth back into his pocket. "But if you must we can do away with formal niceties that society requires and get to the business at hand."

"We don't have business," I spit back. Every inch of my body is alive and coiling up to attack him. My mind drifts around in search of weapons and I remember my stilettos-just one swift move and I could jam it in his chest. It could all be over.

"For a time you were quite popular Ms. Mason, we couldn't book your little escapades fast enough. They feared you and they loved you, and then you met Mr. Decroix. The course of your fate changed, namely he intervened."

My arms tingle, the skin prickling and I feel myself freezing up, "So?"

He reaches into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out folded papers, and I look at them and see Raven's name written across the front. He unfolds it and my name is at the top of the sheet. "He proposed to me that you belong to him only. So we drew up this contract."

Snow looks at me, and I can't breathe as he offers it to me. "What are you doing?"

"I'm offering you the chance to look at what terms and price he bought you for," he says it simply as though it's a common occurrence to see the sale papers of a human being. Maybe it is for him, but not for me.

"I don't want to see that," I barely whisper. I can hear it in my voice-the weakness he's preying on, that he knows is there.

"Don't you though?" He smooths the paper out and I look away from him and out the window, my hand slipping down my side, stretching for my shoe. "Don't you want to see how much he bought you for? How much he pays each year to keep you? What about the terms and conditions? Certainly, you're curious Johanna. You know you are."

The heel slips off into my hand, and I grip it tight. I can do this. In one swift movement, I bring my arm up and-

The champagne bottle breaks against my face, and my head snaps to the side as he digs a shard of glass into my neck. The thin trickle of blood slips between my cleavage, down my champagne covered skin.

He'd been prepared for my attack, my left arm pinned against the door so that I can't lift the shoe to kill him. "How uncivilized Johanna, how uncivilized…"

"You made me this way!" I scream it at him. "I hate you, I'll kill you! I'll kill you one of these days!" My chest is heaving, my vision swims with my fury.

"How has that worked for you so far?" His voice is like ice now. "Little Sven and Greta, drowned. I wonder if they screamed for you to save them? If Sven thought it was a bath and that you'd get him out and everything would be fine? They probably thought you didn't love them-that you didn't care enough to save them."

"Stop!" My voice breaks and I fight against him as the glass presses deeper into my neck. I feel things crumbling around me, everything in me breaking down.

"What about Ivan? Thought he was through with you, and then he still _died for you._I wonder how much he hated ever meeting you then? He'd have been safe, he'd have been happy without you. And that baby Johanna-Ivy was it?"

My heart stops, and I am sobbing at the mention of her name. He knows that, even that. All the fight is out of me but his grip doesn't lessen.

"They're all dead because of you, you're the only common factor."

I summon up something deep inside of me, I rake my right hand across his face-the nails leaving livid marks. He backhands me hard and I spill to the floor, I pull myself up my hand gripping the shoe still. He presses a button, and the car slams to a halt and I hit the floor harder-my shoe flying somewhere. I scramble to look for it, I will kill him.

"There's still Finnick though," my whole body stops. The carpet burn on my arms burns, my lip is swelling up, and my face is cut and bleeding but it's nothing to the cold, clammy feeling that comes over me when he says that.

"I don't know how he's survived so long with you as a friend, Ms. Mason," his tone is formal again. "It would serve you well to remember that my graciousness can run out-that one day that pretty boy can drown in District 4 like Joseph. It would be poetic, wouldn't it?"

The door opens up, and someone big and burly drags me out. I fall to the concrete, my knees throbbing in pain. Snow hands out the letter, "Hope you enjoy the read Johanna."

The door closes and after a moment, they're gone. I look around finding myself in the underground garage of the Training Center. The sound of hurried footsteps fill my ears, and I struggle to lift my heavy throbbing head.

It's freaking Cashmere, of all people. But instead of spitting back the ugly things I've said to her or kicking me, quite literally as I lay here-she brushes back the strands of my hair from my face. She looks at my neck, at the paper I grip in my heavy hands, and the bloody lip. "Let's get you inside," she says gently. She doesn't say empty or stupid things like it's fine or it's not that bad-because she knows what I know that anything with Snow is terrible.

That's why she's doing this, because she's a Victor too. Because when it's like this, we protect our own even if we hate each other. I could hurt her or kill her, but when Snow or a client does this to one of us we stuck together. Broken and little, we're a messed up kind of family at least for now.

Gloss comes closer to me and stands, I grit my teeth when he offers to help me up. "I can do it," I hiss out but Cashmere doesn't leave me. She gets me to my feet, and against my fighting she comes to my room with me. She cleans the cuts-not gently, that is too much to ask-and doesn't talk.

The glass shards finally give up their hold on my face though my fingers still grip that paper in my hands. "I think that's it," she says as she wipes her hands on a towel. "The bleeding is mostly stopped." She gathers up her purse and walks to the door to leave.

"Her name was Ivy," my voice is hoarse and tears are streaming from my eyes again. "I'm sorry about Jasper," my voice is barely a whisper.

Her face is so pale as she stands there, but she let's go of the knob and cries silently there. Neither of us move to comfort the other, we just stand there empty and apart as we think of our lost children-of the lives torn from us. All because of Snow.

I don't know how long it's been when I ask her, "Are you done?"

She wipes at her running make-up, "Yeah. You?"

"This didn't happen," I say forcefully.

"No, it didn't," she looks at me a moment longer. Her chest is heaving, she keeps her eyes down. "Look whatever happened," she let's it hang in the air. "I don't want to know," it hits me as she says it. She knows about the Rebellion, or that something is going on. I can feel it in her hesitance and in the way she speaks. "We have two sisters Satin and Lace, and I don't want to get into your fight with Snow. I helped you here, but that's it. Next time I leave you there. I have to protect them."

"Those are the stupidest names I've ever heard of," I say with a considerably low amount of venom. "I don't need you," I say fiercer. Because, I understand. She has someone left-two sisters unmarred by the Games and she wants to keep them that way. It's okay to be selfish, I think when I look at her.

The door closes behind her and I'm left alone.

I sit on the bed, holding the paper in my hand.

From the beginning, I have known that Raven had bought me, paid for me like some little tramp. But he'd allowed me to do what I please, if I wanted to love someone else or just be free -he was fine with that. He wanted me to be happy. Somehow, I had come to love him-but deep in the recesses of my mind, I had always remembered how he was buying me.

This paper is proof of that. It feels so heavy in my hands, a crushing weight that drags me down, down...But I love him. He was saving me. What did it matter that he was buying me? He was saving me, he wasn't forcing me to do anything!

But I can't let go of the paper, because try as I might all these years I've not been able to forget that he is buying me. I would never have met him if he hadn't bought me. I know he's saved me from fates like Finnick's...but sometimes, like in this moment, it doesn't feel much like saving.

I am loosing Raven more every minute. I am loosing him by inches, little pieces over time as the Rebellion takes up more of my thoughts. Is it okay to love him? This freedom comes with chains that bind me to him. I know that, I have always known that-but I can't escape the truth of it now with the document in my hand.

I would never have met him without Snow. I would never have fallen in love with Raven. My fingers fumble with the papers, and I let my eyes roam it. It's straightforward and simple-Raven owns every part of me. He is responsible for whatever I do, for my clothes and upkeep, and he even pays my Victor's winnings. I had once thought that the money was substantial to the point of too much, but the paltry sum of a month of my winnings isn't even what he pays for me in a day in the Capitol.

The amount is staggering. I understand why now that Snow allowed this to happen, why he sells his Victors. There's money in enslavement, a lot of it-more than my District will see in a lifetime in one single year.

I stare blankly at the paper and slowly crumple it into a ball. Things won't ever be the same again, I'll never get over this-over what Snow said or what he's shown me. He knows that. He's tearing apart the last things I have left-Raven is too important for him to lose, but he's turning me against him.

I don't want that to happen, I don't want to give Snow the satisfaction. But deep inside, I know that this is just the tip of the iceberg-the beginning of the end of us. On so many levels what Raven and I have is wrong, does it matter if it's right on just one? If the Rebellion succeeds, I'll be leaving him behind anyways.

My body slips to the floor, and I feel the tears rolling down my face. I'm losing everything, _everything._The tiny seed is planted in my mind, and I know that over time it will grow. The gap between Raven and I will widen, because we are on two sides of this war. I will hold on to him as long as I can, because as wrong as it is-I love him, desperately...madly...foolishly.

I rest my heavy head on my drawn up knees. He was all I had left, something I thought Snow couldn't touch and yet with one sheet of paper he'd destroyed it. I keep repeating it in my head over and over again that it doesn't matter.

But the truth is, Snow wins again.


	124. Better Feared than Pitied

**As always, I don't own the Hunger Games-sadly, I might add. Wish, I'd come up with it! All direct quotes from the book are in bold-I have limited them as much as possible. And the quotes at the beginning of the chapters are also, not mine, but rather quoted out of respect to set the tone for the chapter (or something that struck me as important).**

"_**She had put despair and fear aside, as if they were garments she did not choose to wear." **_

― _**George R.R. Martin**__**, **__**A Game of Thrones**_

The words echo in my mind, over and over again. Snow wins.

Snow wins.

The mantra keeps on and on until I'm sick of it, until my whole body is pumping with hot, angry blood. I push my weary head off my knees and grit my teeth. I pull myself up to shaking feet. I shower quickly, washing the stench of blood and roses off of me. I scrub myself until my skin is raw and red.

I pull my hair up and glance at myself in the mirror. There is bruising on my face, and a deep thick cut on my neck and cheek. I can feel the bruising on my palms before I even look at my hands. I take a deep steadying breath in front of the mirror before I tear through the closet to find clothes.

Quickly, I pull out supple boots, shorts, and one of Finnick's shirts that resides in my closet. When I put it on, it smells of him so strongly that I'm at last able to get rid of the stench of roses. I don't bother to cover the scratches or bruises, instead I search for a lighter.

Carefully, I let the papers catch light and then drop them to the floor. Let the whole place burn, let the world burn with it for all I care. My heart throbs painfully in my chest as I slam the door behind me and make my way to the elevator.

These halls are already empty, even the ghosts of tributes past fear to haunt me. The elevator takes me down, and again I see the vicious marks of violence on my skin. But I don't care, I'll wear them proudly now-defiantly.

I try to press down all the memories of Sven, Greta, Ivy, Liam, and Ivan. They are dead, they shouldn't be able to hurt me anymore. They are dead. I say it over and over in my mind as I enter control.

They are dead. They feel nothing. I won't cry for them again, I can't let Snow beat me like this. If I am to survive this, if I am to live through this Rebellion so that I can kill him I have to be invincible against his barbs.

The only person alive that he can reach me through is Finnick. But he can't kill him, he can't-half the Capitol would revolt. Everyone loves Finnick, not as I do and not as Annie does-but they love them in their sick, twisted fashion. He's as safe as Raven, I try to tell myself.

Besides, I can't keep him from the danger of this Rebellion-this Revolution. He won't hide, he'll fight with me. We'll tear the city down brick by brick if we have to, and we'll live through it. I have to believe that.

When I enter Control, everyone turns to me except Cashmere and Gloss. I can see the questions on their lips and the pity in their eyes. I hate them for it, I hate them all for it.

Coral looks away when I glare at her, but Tristan doesn't. His mouth is slightly agape as he looks at me. I glare at him more fiercely and he shudders and blinks his eyes like he's coming out of a trance. But Coral keeps her eyes cast down as though she's sparing me something.

My hands grip the armrest of her chair. "Look at me!" I growl. She doesn't move her head up to me, she keeps her eyes cast down. I slap her hard across the face, "Come on! Look at me,"I spit it out in her face. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you. I grab her chin and force her to look at me. "You wanted to stare before," her eyes lock with mine. "Stare now!"

Do you still feel sorry for me? Her lips tremble, and I let go of her face laughing. Better they think I'm crazy then weak, anything is better than weak.

I move toward Acanthus, and sit down beside him watching the tributes from 12. Peeta moves with the careers as the boy from three plants the mines while someone watches him. Katniss on the other hand stalks through the forests on deer feet. As twilight falls, the careers keep up their pace while Katniss begins to set snares.

She settles down for the night, climbing a tree as good as any kid from 7. She straps herself in-so she's not a complete idiot. She won't be falling out of any trees tonight.

Pretty soon, the recap plays. While nothing happens in the arena, we see a bloody replay of each and every death then the sky in the arena lights up with the pictures of the dead with no details. The girl from 3, the boy from 4 (so Finnick's kid is dead already), the boy from five, both from six, Ela, Cyrus, the boy from 8, both tributes from 9, and then the girl from 10. They focus in on Katniss ticking off the tributes, her face is a mask though. The talk on the feed about what she must be thinking, but we all know. It's one less person she'll have to kill.

Peeta is looking at the sky too, and they linger on his face. He closes his eyes briefly, and his lips move gently, _Not Katniss._His shoulders relax for a moment, her name on his lips like a prayer. Money starts to trickle into their account slowly over the next few minutes. The boy has captured their hearts.

…

Acanthus is asleep in the chair next to me, but I'm not tired at all. I'm too keyed up from the day I've had. I hear the sounds of footsteps coming in, one set heavier, and the other lighter-more graceful. I'd know that sound anywhere, Finnick.

His hand comes around and touches the scratches of my cheek. He doesn't say anything about it, but his finger runs across my brow. I'm in his arms before I remember moving, and I have my face buried into his chest, my hands clutching in his shirt. He smells like women, wine, and sex-of expensive perfume, sweat. But there underneath it all, is the subtle scent of him.

I cling to him as fiercely as he clings to me. I know that Snow knows he means something to me, everything to me. But does he know what exactly? When we pull away from each other and I look into his eyes, I know that Snow can't possibly understand.

What we have isn't about sex or infatuation. It's not in the looks we give each other, or the moments we share. And I realize, for the first time that Snow doesn't understand what's going on here-how could he?

He threw Finnick at me as though I loved him like Ivan or Raven. He saw this as carnal, as Victor's seeking refuge, and like everyone else in the Capitol, he saw Finnick and I as lovers. He doesn't understand in this world of buying and selling that none of that is there, that I love Finnick as Katniss loves Prim. I would give my life for him. He can't understand that, that there's not more to it.

For the first time, I see him as he see me-jealousy and rage. Stolen moments with Finnick, naked showers, whispered I love you's. There's power in that, power in the purity of what we have because he can't understand that. And in the end, it might be what keeps Finnick, and maybe Annie, safe.

Reluctantly, I pull away from him and notice that Haymitch is here. Haymitch's face is drawn, heavy bags under his eyes and his hands shake. I reach for the bottle on the desk and pull off the top, passing it to him. He takes an appreciative chug, relaxing slowly into his seat. Acanthus wakes up and stretches beside us.

There's deep purple bruising on Haymitch's neck, the marks of harsh sucking lips. Begrudgingly, I admire him. It's been a long time since he's done anything for the sake of tributes, since he's cared. He passes me back the bottle, for a moment our eyes meet, and then he looks away. I take a long chug from the bottle and give it to Finnick.

For a moment, he considers the bottle-and I see the pain in his eyes, the hurt boy that he really is before he chugs down some of the white liquor.

"I'll get us some breakfast," Acanthus yawns. He starts to move away when suddenly there's a flash of bright light on the screen.

The room falls into a deadly silence. The fire flares up bright and menacing. It might as well be a funeral pyre, for all the good it'll do this tribute-I identify her as the girl from eight. She'll be warm for awhile, maybe even happy. Perhaps, she'll forget the terribleness of the arena before they find her.

Cecilia pushes back from her station, her face is pale. "I'll go with you, Acanthus," she takes a deep breath as she looks at the screen for a moment longer. "My tributes are done for the year," there's a sadness in her voice.

The two of them disappear out of of Control as we watch Katniss, because, of course, the huge fire has to be right next to our great shining hope's tree. The flames flicker keeping the girl from eight warm, but Katniss doesn't move. She's angry, it's easy to tell, but she knows it'll be more damaging to run than to stay put.

Either way, she might be dead.

The food comes and I help myself to a stack of pancakes while Haymitch pours a cup of hot coffee that's at least half whiskey. Acanthus peels an orange while Finnick eats more sugar cubes instead of putting them in his coffee. Cecelia sits with us even though she knows her girl won't make it out.

"You don't have to stay," Finnick tells her.

"She's my tribute, I should stay with her until the end. She's all alone," her voice breaks again. "I keep thinking one day it'll be my kids. You know it will," her voice is hard and bitter. I take a look at her, a real look at her. She's all curves and softness, motherly. Cecelia left behind that girl from the arena who sobbed while she beat in the head of a tribute from ten-her first kill. By the time she got to the end, she didn't even flinch when she slit someone's throat. Now she comforts children at home-children who she knows one day will probably end up the Games.

I wonder how often she wonders which one of them it'll be? Or if it'll be all of them? Will she stand in an empty room with everything she loves gone? I can't do that, I can't risk that-risk loving something for Snow just to take it from me. How can she sing to them at night knowing what's coming?

No one talks anymore. Food tastes like sawdust in my mouth, the sweet taste of syrup makes me sick even though I force more food into my mouth. I refuse to stop eating, to let on that it bothers me.

The sky begins to get lighter. It's barely noticeable, but it's happening slowly-not like the Careers. The map shows the dots running, hurrying toward the girl, racing against the dawn. If they reach her before dawn, Katniss will be hidden-but if it's after, she may be killing the girl herself. I have no doubt Katniss will kill the girl or in no way hesitate to do whatever it takes to survive.

The sound on the news feed shows the running pack, and they're close now. Katniss lifts her head on screen, she can hear them now too. They break into the clearing just as the girl wakes from sleep. She must have been having a pleasant dream, the way she wakes up with the ghost of a smile on her lips, but it's short-lived.

She screams loudly as Cato descends on her. "No, please! I'll do any-" The knife goes through her chest, and within seconds blood is bubbling on her lips. Her eyes remain unblinking as the screen shows the celebrating of the pack. Peeta is there, his face is smiling but it doesn't reach his eyes. There is relief on his face, and everyone can see that he's glad it's not _her._

Cecelia's voice is shakey as we watch her tributes monitor, "Finish her.". The heart rate is low, spiking up and down. She's still alive, and they're too caught up to finish her off. She lays there in pain, the sharp spikes of her heart showing that though she can't move.

"**Twelve down and eleven to go!"**

They move off, excitement in their steps. Finnick's soothing voice drowns out the feed as he talks to Cecelia, "It's okay. She won't last long. She's not really suffering."

We all know it for the lie it is.

They're mere yards away from Katniss when they stop now, she's absolutely still.

"**Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" **Idiots, they realize it now.

"See, they'll go back and finish her off," I pat Cecelia's hand. Finnick gives me a look, but Haymitch laughs.

"Good one," he laughs but there's anxiety in his voice. They're so close to Katniss, it's a good thing it's still too dark for them to see her.

"**She's dead. I stuck her myself," **Cato growls.

"**Then where's the cannon?"**Clove spits back.

Glimmer is uneasy, "**Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done."**Cato's face gets redder by the second.

"**Yeah,"**Marvel looks around distractedly. "**We don't want to have to track her down twice."**

Cato shouts this time, "**I said she's dead!" **

They're screaming at each other, the way that only the careers would dare to do. I tune them out, fantasizing about Katniss murdering them from the tree-tops or Thresh pulling their arms out of their sockets.

Peeta is standing to the side, looking off into the trees. There's a wistfulness on his face that turns to rage, "**We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!"**

The others all jerk around to him, as though they've forgotten he was there. Katniss falls sideways in shock. It's clear on her face that she had no idea Peeta was with them. She hangs there, upside down clinging to the tree with her arms and the belt.

None of the careers, even notice.

Peeta stalks off as the careers whisper behind him. He finds the girl easily, she's moving feebly now trying to crawl away. Pain is written clearly on her face as he kneels beside her. "You're okay," his voice is soft as he glances around him. He pushes the hair back from her face, "It's okay." Her breathing evens out, "Your family loves you." He whispers it to her like a secret between them. "Close your eyes, it won't hurt. I promise." Tears leak from the corners of her eyes, and she closes them slowly. He drives the dagger hard through her chest, there's a little blip on the screen and then her heart just stops.


	125. Drink Don't Think

**I'm sorry for my extended absence. It was the product of 3 things: 1. Infection with antibiotics that caused allergic reaction. 2. Good old fashion writer's block, and 3. I'm having surgery on Tuesday-left arm, carpal tunnel and ulna nerve release. So for the next few weeks, you'll have some pre-prepared chapters in Phoenix, Districts of Rebellion, Sweetheart, and For Their Entertainment. FTE is being published later tonight. **

**Please bear with me while I go through surgery, as if I don't I will lose dexterity in my hand.**

**About this chapter, I wrote this about six times. In fact I have a bunch of blurbs that will be in other chapters just from writing this one. Nothing wanted to mesh, and then...it just did.**

_Don't wanna let you down_

_But I am hell bound_

_Though this is all for you_

_Don't wanna hide the truth_

_No matter what we breed_

_We still are made of greed_

_This is my kingdom come_

_This is my kingdom come_

_When you feel my heat_

_Look into my eyes_

_It's where my demons hide_

_It's where my demons hide_

_Don't get too close_

_It's dark inside_

_It's where my demons hide_

_Demons by Imagine Dragons_

"Go rest," Finnick tells me as the careers talk about killing Peeta.

"But you've been up all night," I object. "You're dead on your feet. I can-"

"Go Johanna, my boy is dead. I can help Haymitch, and so can Acanthus." He looks at me with those brilliant eyes, and I look away.

"Fine," I grumble.

Cecalia leaves with me. She's plump and soft, all motherly. We don't speak, there are no words to say to her. Eventually, we part at the elevator. "See you next year," she calls out as she takes the elevator up.

I take a car with one of the driver's that is at our disposal. I look out the window as we go, everything is coming alive as the sun comes up. There are people, few, who are out on the streets. Most of them, by the look of their walk and dress, have been out all night. In Control, it's easy to remember that the Capitol never sleeps.

I close my eyes and lean my head against the cool glass. I must doze off because when I wake up, I'm at Ravens.

Twisting the key in the lock, I move into the foyer. Esther smiles warmly at me, Jacob holding her hand. Jacob runs to me and I lift him up in my arms to kiss his unruly hair. He tells me all about the dream he had of flying. His eyes are alight and dancing, "You no go district home soon?" He wrinkles his brow at me.

My daughter would have been just a bit older than him. I smooth the curly hair down, "No. Not for awhile Jacob."

"Zoo soon?" He asks smiling brightly.

My chest tightens in pain. "Of course, we'll go soon. I just have to finish my job, okay?"

Esther comes back and picks him up, kissing his cheek. She hands me a note, and goes back to her massive quarters with Jacob. I hear her locking the door, before I look at the note:

_Raven will be back sometime after dinner. We will give you your space. I am sorry about your tributes._

I crumple the note up and toss it at the bin. Searching through his study for a bottle of the good alcohol, I notice a paper wrapped package. There's a tag with my name on it. I break the seal on the vodka as I hold the gift in my hand.

I sit down heavily, my legs feeling weak and achy. I crack the seal on the bottle and I know that whatever is hidden in this package-I'm too sober to face it. Too sober to face much of anything really.

The seal comes off the bottle of amber liquid and I slosh it into a glass. One neat flick of my wrist and it's scalding it's way down my throat. I throw back another glass then another. And another, until the sharp edges of pain and clarity are blunted like useless weapons.

My hands shake as I tear away the paper, try to make my eyes focus on the gift. It's a simple wooden frame. I rub my fingers over the design around the frame. The tears sting, hot paths streaking down my cheeks. My eyes blur too much, I can't even see his face but I know it's there. I know he is.

_Liam._

I don't know how he got the photo, but it's of Liam the moment before I run into his arms. His face is alight with love and joy. He is so alive, so my Liam that it hurts to stare at him through the tears.

Clutching it tight to my chest, I stop using the glass and instead down the bottle as quickly as I can manage because love is pain, excruciating pain. I have been it's victim so many times. Behind my closed eyes, all I see is graves instead of the faces of the one's I love.

I sink into a stupor.

_His hands are clawing at my roughspun shirt and it's up and over my head before I can catch my breath. His hands fondle my breasts as I reach for his waist band._

"_Are you sure?" Ivan's voice young in my ears, husky._

"_I've never been more sure," I tug his pants down as he nips at my neck. The rain and thunder roll outside as we roll around on the damp earthen floor._

I stumble into the kitchen and find another bottle, this one vodka. I crack the seal and take a long pull.

_Liam is opening his arms to me and I am running into them. I can feel his hard muscles, the woodsy smell I've come to love. He squeezes me so tight I can't breathe. I don't want to breath, I don't want this moment to pass. _

The memories hit like shockwaves. One minute I'm dancing or stumbling around, the next I'm in tears-until finally, I'm just numb. I flip on some music and sway drunkenly around the room much like I've seen the morphlings from six do.

I keep trying to let everything go, but my memories won't disappear. Shadows dance and sway with me, and I swear Ivan kisses me once. The world shakes, it shatters and I'm not scared at all. Sober is worse.

There's a loud thud that reverabrates around me. When I turn I see him, the heavy shoulders and dark hair and eyes. "Jo?"

He drops his keys on the table, "You're toooo so-sober," I slur it out.

"I don't think-"

"No," I say it firmly. "No thinking. Tired of thinking. Drink," I hand him the bottle. For a moment, I think he'll refuse and try to put me to bed to sleep it off.

Instead, he takes the bottle from me and takes several long pulls as he slinks an arm around my waist. We dip and sway to the music, grinding and gyrating to the music. I've never seen him drunk like this.

He kisses me sloppily, his hands groping me as his tongue flicks in and out of my mouth. When he pulls back a moment, all I can see is the gleam of his toothy smile. I can't help but laugh at him.

I yank the bottle out of his hand and drink, spilling half of it down my shirt. Raven grabs my waist with his hands and licks the citrus flavoured vodka off my chest. I moan as his teeth graze over my skin. His hot lips suck and bite along the top of my breasts as his hands come up. He yanks apart the buttons hard and traces kisses over my skin as he puts his mouth o-!

I moan again as his lips move and my toes curl as I lean my head back. My hands grip his shoulders hard, making crescent shaped marks in his skin before he comes back up. I take another drink before I pass him the bottle.

Mimicking him, I pop the buttons of his shirt as I rip it open. My fingers fumble with his belt until I finally get it undone. I take the bottle back and pour a path down the center of his chest before giving it back.

I start at the top, slowly slurping and sucking the alcohol path down his body. It's his turn to moan.

We break apart again and we run for the stairs to his room, but I slip on the first step and he's over me before I try to get up. His eyes are bright as he puts his hand on the back of my head and pulls me to him. The kiss is sloppy and wet. Our tongues tangling in a blurry haze, but my whole body is on fire where ever he touches me or looks at me.

The edge of the steps bite into my shoulders, my back, my thighs-everywhere it touches as our movements become frenzied. His voice is soft like the whispering of cloth, and mine is just as soft as our movements try to find a rhythmm. But we're so drunk, so much like teenagers as we try to fit ourselves together.

"How's that?"

"I'm going to have a stair mark on my thighs."

"Do you want me to…"

"Yes."

"So worth it."

I nip at his neck as he supports himself over me. I close my eyes, taking in the heady smell of alcohol and sweat. My eyes begin to burn, until I realize I'm crying. I don't want him to see, so I grip him tighter as he moves with me.

If I hold him like this, he can't ever leave. But he's already slipping through my fingers like sand or water. Our movements synch up, and his lips are so close to my ear whispering. "I love you. I need you more than anything. I can't live without you."

_Please, don't leave me. _My mind cries it out, but my lips won't move. For once, I don't bite back my pleasure, I scream it out and his voice melds with mine and then my mouth is over his and my hands are pulling his hair. And I'm his. And he is mine. And we won't ever come apart.


	126. Thirst

Long overdue, but more to come very soon. Thanks for being patient there's been...a lot going on.

_**We never know the worth of water till the well is dry. ~Thomas Fuller, Gnomologia, 1732**_

My head throbs painfully as something buzzes around me. I swat at it annoyed and try to shield my ears from the pain of it, but it keeps on and on. I swing my hand out and the bones on the side of my hand throb when it hits something. It isn't until I hear Finnick's voice distantly that I realize it's the phone.

I reach down for the phone and fall out of the bed trying to answer it. It takes me another minute to get it to my face, "What?" I croak out. My voice is hoarse, dry. My head aches even more.

His voice sounds tired, very tired and pained, "Jo, we need you."

"I'm coming," my voice is barely a whisper as I get the phone back on the hook. Raven is snoring loudly in the bed. I use my foot to kick him, but it jars my head and I cry out.

"What?" His voice is thick.

"I've got to go," I speak low. "Finnick needs me."

I hear Raven groan. As much as I try to hurry, I just can't seem to make it to my feet. Finally, I do though I know a lot of time has passed. I contemplate showering, but the idea is too daunting. Instead, I pull clothes on even though I know I reek of sex and alcohol. I find a pair of sunglasses and stumble to the door as I hear Raven begin snoring again.

I half stumble down the stairs. Someone gives me a glass of water, and I down it quickly as I wait for a car.

Somehow, I'm in the car and I don't recall how exactly. I find a bottle of alcohol and take several long chugs. The roaring in my head dims as I get out of the car and make my way to Control.

I don't bother pulling off my shades yet as I make my way to Finnick and Haymitch. They both look terrible, as terrible as I feel. Acanthus is asleep on the cot behind them.

"Coffee," I growl as I sit down on Finnick trying to make my eyes focus. "What's going on?"

Instead of answering, he points at the screen. It takes me a few minutes to be able to focus. The coffee dulls the ache as I watch. Katniss stumbles through the woods—all grace gone. She's clumsy and she looks frail. Her lips are chapped and there's a pale look to her skin beneath the flush of the sun.

Dehydrated, "She hasn't found water?" She's dying.

No one speaks and my coffee grows cold while I watch her. She is fighting for her life here, against nature and the gamemakers instead of the careers. Her grey eyes look upwards, her voice is harsh from thirst and lack of talking. "Water?" She stares into the camera as though she knows it's there, begging for water—even now it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. She doesn't ask again, though she stares for long minutes at the sky.

I watch the money trickle in. She buries her face in her hands, shielding herself from all of her eyes. But her shoulders do not shake, and when she lifts her head there are no tears. Haymitch is leaning forward, watching her with red-rimmed eyes.

"Come on sweetheart," his voice is just a whisper. "It's close. Work it out," his fists are clenched beside him.

She grits her teeth and gets up using a stick to help her walk. Her face remains impassive, but as the hours slip by—we know she's not got much left in her to make it. She can't go much further, I keep telling myself—but she does.

Her legs are trembling and every now and then she stops, looking confused. Her mind is wandering and I know we've lost her. I want to scream at Haymitch to give her water, but it'll do no good.

"If she can't find water for herself, then it's better off she dies," his voice is hard, but his resolve is breaking. Money comes in more and more, and I know hundreds maybe thousands are asking why he doesn't send her something. But he keeps it all and just watches her.

The other tributes are searching for water, some find it while others struggle with the decision of going back to the lake or searching onwards. The career pack with Peeta reaches the end of their water and returns to the lake for more supplies. Anyone going back there is as good as dead.

She's struggling harder, barely even taking in her surroundings though she's close—so close to water that we're all on our feet watching her. She's not far at all, when she falls. Her eyes close and her breathing is ragged.

Haymitch is screaming at her, yelling for her to get up and get moving. This is how it's going to end, our great hope dying inches from water her fingers in the mud. Everything we hoped for, just gone… There won't be anyone that will come along like her again, not soon enough. I want to scream at Haymitch, tell him to give her the damn water but I don't. I'm Johanna Mason, I'm not supposed to care.

"Looks like District 12 is going to lose again," I roll my eyes.

The tips of her fingers move through the mud, making patterns and Haymitch is pulling at his hair. "Come on sweetheart!"

Her eyes fly open as if she's heard him. She sniffs the air, inhales deeply and I know that she's smelt the water—the cool earth. She digs in, pulling her body through mud until she almost goes face down in the water. I half expect her to gulp it down but she surprises me.

Shaking and weak, she puts the water in her bottle and purifies it. She waits for twenty minutes, her whole body shuddering with anticipation. When she finally puts the bottle to her lips she drinks one swallow slowly, then another. She takes it slowly instead of gorging herself on it. She finishes one bottle, then drinks another before settling into a tree.

We watch everyone around the arena. The girl from five darts from bush to bush like a little mouse. She finds a few leaves and makes a feast of them. Peeta fills his water bottle as Cato sharpens a knife blade. All of his movements remind me so much of his brother but colder, harsher but just as easy to handle. Too much anger, too much brawn and too little brain in what's left. They needed to get rid of him and that Clove girl soon or there'll be hell to pay.

The sky lights up as the Capitol anthem plays, the seal glowing across the sky and then nothing. No deaths today. Bad, very bad…People in the Capitol would be getting bored and for a Gamemaker a boring games meant a short reign maybe even a short life. Something would happen soon, very soon to get everyone in the arena moving.

Katniss falls asleep, as do most of the others, but the hunters are at it again moving through the woods like shadows. "How long do you think?" Acanthus asks.

We don't have to ask what he means, we know. "Maybe a few hours at most. Sometime before dawn, just as they're getting in from their Capitol parties. That would make the most sense," Finnick sighs and consults the clocks. "Speaking of parties, I've got to get ready. Acanthus?"

Both of them leave ready to go off and please the Capitol. Haymitch's eyes are bloodshot, but he hesitates. "You should go too," I tell him. "I can watch them."

He gives a grunt of thanks and leaves. I take a seat at the controls and watch the Games. The arena is quiet, the calm before a storm. The demons of my nightmares come as they always do during these games. I think of Liam, of what it would have been like if we had won our Games like Cashmere and Gloss. Would we be sitting here together now? Would we still be as close? Would…would…if…

I close my eyes a moment, realizing that it does no good to think of him now. But he won't be banished so easy, he won't let me push him away or shut him out as though he has some power still over the living. Liam.

Peeta moves through the trees, not as silently as Liam did but the resemblance is striking. As the night goes on and gets closer and closer to dawn, I have to tell myself over and over again—Liam is dead.

Liam is dead.

Liam is dead.


	127. Inferno

**I owe you all bit of an explanation about my absence. I've promised to be open about my struggles with anxiety and depression. I think it's important to, because it needs to be talked about instead of swept under the rug.**

**I had a very bad bout of depression. I was writing in April and the next thing I know, it's August and I realize I haven't written in months. And then I just couldn't get out of bed.**

**Finally, I realized what was going on. It came on so slowly, like boiling a lobster-lower it in the water so it can't tell. That's what happened to me, and suddenly I was in boiling water and I had to get out because I was scared of everything even sleeping at night. **

**I've changed my depression meds and I feel much better already. I was never suicidal or anything like that. I just didn't want to move, couldn't muster up enough to give a care. Then I did, and I took to changing things. It was very hard to get out of bed and go to the doctor's even though I hated how sad I was feeling. I have a great support system and great willpower, so I did it.**

**Willpower. It's a very strong word, encompassing a lot of things. In the midst of my depression I wrote something about it that I donated to the fandom4lls. It's a future Johanna scene, so some red herrings in it and some spoilers though which is which I won't tell. But it's a piece about Johanna being tortured in the Capitol and her will to survive it, that need that driving force that says you've got to get up when everything else is telling you to give in.**

**If you donate to the cancer society (a certain amount, I don't recall how much) and show the receipt the fandom4lls will let you read that chapter ahead of time along with a lot of other great fanfiction stories.**

**That chapter will eventually be published on here, I'm hoping early next year along with the piece that I did last year for the fandom4LLS (that one is from Raven's perspective).**

**But I've talked enough, here's what you've come for with a small note:**

**This chapter briefly discusses the Holocaust and what Johanna has learned of it. She has not seen the movie Schindler's List and is only grasping the basic concepts. So pardon her for her ignorance**

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><p><em><strong>"<strong>__**They know that tragedy is not glamorous. They know it doesn't play out in life as it does on a stage or between the pages of a book. It is neither a punishment meted out nor a lesson conferred. Its horrors are not attributable to one single person. Tragedy is ugly and tangled, stupid and confusing." **_

_**― **__**E. Lockhart**__**, **__**We Were Liars**_

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><p>I swirl the whiskey in my glass, watching it intently before downing it. The night has been a boring one, which is a relief—but at the same time the tension is building. The careers are hunting for other tributes, but most of the easiest prey is gone. As night descended, most of those left had huddle into balls under piles of leaves or snuggle into low hanging branches. No one left is stupid enough to build a fire.<p>

The Careers move on their fruitless search becoming more than exasperated by the second, but soon they'll be regretting expending so much useless energy now. It is the only thing that is evident—that something _is_ coming. What it is or when it will happen is anyone's guess.

I fold my legs under me and search the screens, knowing that the Gamemaker's secrets won't be given up easily. I could leave Katniss and Peeta for awhile and make my way home to Raven. He would be able to find out, he could pull favours…but…I don't want to talk to him, not now. Last night had been bliss, had been his arms around me and he in mine and happiness. But more and more that piece of paper that Snow had shown me weighed on my mind. I knew exactly how much I was bought for and all the terms and conditions. I love him, and he loves me—but it's not that. How can any of that really mean anything when there's a contract that says I am his possession?

I know, I know that he did it to save me. That means something, he's told me over and over again I can love anyone I want. But there is still the small matter of money, of my being someone's property even if I'm not treated like it. It shouldn't matter—It's for a good reason, but more and more I just feel sick. Snow had reminded me of what I had turned a blind eye too, of what I kept pushing to the back of my mind. Ultimately, it would push a wedge between us and all that we have would fade away into nothing. How long could I go on loving him?

He was—he is, a good man. That means _something._

Raven told me once about a movie he saw, the memory flashes up in my mind so vivid it cuts like glass. He tells me how he saw a movie as a child—a banned movie—about a man who employed Jews. Long before we were Panem—before when there was more world beyond our borders instead of desolation….there had been a man named Schindler.

He hired the Jews and paid the Nazis, that's what Raven said they were called, for using them. The Jews didn't even get their own wages—considered less than human "life unworthy of life." The people begged to be employed by him instead of going to death camps. A whole people catagorized into a neatly tied moniker- "Jewish Problem." Later on, some people would call it Holocaust, a "sacrifice by fire."

Problem, the word makes my chest hurt. When will Snow come to that same conclusion? That we are better to kill than to allow to live? I wonder if those Jews ever despised Schindler? He was saving them, employing them—but at the same time, they were just possessions easily traded for another weren't they? He was rich—a war profiteer, not a good man in many ways and he had turned out to be their savior. They loved him for saving them, but in some part of their hearts they had to despise him still? I know I would, I know I do.

Being saved, being safe would never have sat well with them or with me. There are so many others that weren't safe, that didn't have my protection. It's easy to despise the person who is saving you when you are being saved. You are safe, resentful even of that person or their affluence. Raven buys me so that I'm safe from others, but Finnick…and all the others are not safe. Why am I so lucky that someone would shield me from being raped and sold over and over? Why me and not Finnick or Cashmere? I wonder if the Jews asked that too? Why me? Why not someone else?

When did I stop being a person and become a property, a problem? The moment I left that arena I lost my facelessness and became an emblem, a commodity to be bought and sold. But will there come a day that even being Raven's property won't save me? A day that my corpse will be more convenient than all the people I could screw? How long until my dead body is worth more than my living one?

Do they have a solution for me yet?

A flash lights up the screen, just a small spark that seems to grow and then everything is on fire—the whole screen enveloped in flames. The Gamemaker's have finally made their move, finally decided to give the tributes that little extra "push."

Katniss wakes up as the fires gathers around her. She unlatches her belt and falls to the ground. She runs along with the creatures from the arena, her feet stumbling here and there on branches. Each time it makes my heart catch, but I keep my face controlled as I watch her run.

She keeps ahead of most of the fire, but here and there the heat licks at her appendages or her face. Her jacket catches on fire and flares bright before she stomps it out and throws it in her bag. She runs again, but her body slows as the fire catches up with her.

Fire. Figures. Snow's always been a bit heavy-handed with his retributions and his metaphors, call it his own weird brand of humor.

Before long she's coughing, her body slowing from the effects of the smoke. I can almost feel the smoke in my own lungs; in Seven we are no strangers to forest fires. Finally, she's forced to stop underneath an overhang of rocks where she vomits over and over until all she can do is dry-heave. She drinks a swallow of her precious water as she pants. I can see her mind working, trying to figure out the Gamemaker's plans. I think, she's trying to find a way around it-she knows that whatever they want is not in her best interest. Good girl.

She adjusts her bag trying to buy some time or some interest with the audience, but the Gamemaker's have become bored. A fireball hits a few feet above her head sending her scurrying. Just like that, she's interesting again.

Fireballs hit rapidly around her and she moves with renewed speed. She weaves back and forth, making herself a harder target to hit without making an easy pattern to decipher. The fireballs make a low, whining type hiss as they hurl through the air. Her senses are sharp, each time the sound comes she dives out of the way in an unexpected manner. I know her legs must be burning, but she is wild with fear-something animalistic in her driving her on despite it.

Katniss runs beyond reason or normal strength, the fireballs slow substantially as she crashes through the brush. She's retching and choking on the fumes. She falls down and retches on what looks like her own saliva-it pours from her mouth and nose. Finally, she catches her breath and notices that one of those near misses sheared off at least four inches of her hair.

The fireball comes from nowhere, the sound of it oddly muted. Katniss barely reacts in time. The flames graze her leg and she panics trying to crawl away from her burning pants. She screams as finally remembers to roll to put out the flames.

I glance at the screen seeing that she's safe for now, no one is close enough to reach her quickly with all that smoke. I turn back just in time to see her yank the burning fabric off her leg. I watch her sit there muffling screams as the skin on her hands starts blistering instantly. She'll be lucky if she can close those fingers anytime soon.

Amazingly, she forces herself to stand still eager to get away from the leftover fire and the choking smoke. She stumbles along, pain clear on her face. Her boots are in the pool of water before she realizes it. She backtracks quickly and lays down sticking her hands in the water. Her relief is almost instant as she lets them soak. Eventually, she sits up and takes a look at her leg.

It's not bad considering. She looks as though she'll pass out for a few seconds then she takes several deep breaths as she cuts away the fabric. The burn is the size of a pancake-

I check the area quickly and see that for now she's still in the clear. I move to the coffee station and pour myself another cup as she starts soaking her leg. I check in on her as she drinks and arranges her bag as she just sits in the open. I lose interest in her for several minutes as I grab a stack of pancakes from an Avox who's come in. I slather them in syrup and sit down, prepared to watch Katniss sit in water and not move-which is exactly what she does.

Finnick comes back reeking of cigars and gin, his eyes are heavy and bloodshot. "Where are they others?"

"Haymitch is still entertaining, but Acanthus went for some sleep." He takes the fork from my hand and begins eating my pancakes. I stroke his hair as he sits on the floor beside me eating my food. He falls asleep more than once with the fork in his mouth.

"Go sleep," I say. "I can watch her." But he won't go. Instead, he sits there leaning his head in my lap watching. Katniss dozes off from what I assume is a combination of pain and exhaustion. By the time I look down at Finnick he's asleep. He has always been able to fall asleep anywhere.

Always.

I use that word as though I've known him all his or my life. But in some ways, I guess I have. Sometimes, I'm still not sure that I didn't die in the arena and was reborn into this hell. The world is so distant and strange on this side of the Games. I wonder if Katniss knows what it'll cost her? Does she know that Peeta is only playing at being a Career? Does she know that sometime soon, he's going to die for her?

He's nothing to rally behind, but she is. Our great shining hope, our glorious leader of a rebellion whether she likes it or not. I wonder if in the end, she'll have to kill Peeta herself?

I have seen Haymitch's grief. He knows it has to be her, but he wants to save them both. But we Victors from the outlying districts don't have that luxury. We choose one tribute to get the little funding we'll receive and hope we picked the right one.

It was a no-brainer to pick Katniss. If we could pick a hundred times who to support, it would always be Katniss. At first, I thought Peeta didn't have a chance-I was surprised he was lasting this long. But he loved her and love accounts for a lot. Love for Katniss was keeping Peeta alive. And if I could pick again, it would still be her. Peeta would pick her every time too-her survival over his. Over and over, it all comes back to her and him. Perhaps what bothers me most is that without knowing she's our hope for rebellion, he chooses her. He chooses a girl he's never kissed or held, or spoke to before the game over his own life. Yes, that's what bothers me most-that he's a better person than us all.


	128. Up a Tree

**Sorry for my long absence. I've had to deal with a bunch of personal things-depression namely and my nephew getting beaten up badly at a skatepark. He had to have two metal plates put in his face, but he's doing much better now. I'll spare the gory details. Keep faith with me, I won't leave you hanging. Next update should be about Friday or Saturday as long as storms don't knock out my net again.**

**Everything bolded is a quote from the book or the movie(s) and are used for context only. Thanks for being patient!**

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><p><em><strong>How terrible it is to love something that death can touch.-Unknown<strong>_

Haymitch comes in sometime later still reeking of alcohol. Luckily though, he's actually sober—apparently he must have bathed in the stuff by the way he smells. He stretches out his long legs beside me. "Well, I've not been doing this for a long time. Even my p-"

I glare hard at him and he stops. "She's gotten burned. Anything you want to do about it?"

"Nope," he uncorks the bottle takes a long draught and hands it over to me. I take a long pull then pass it back to him, my body feeling warm and glowy. "She'll manage." He eyes the funds, "Besides she'll get more sponsors this way. All the suffering, makes their little hearts bleed."

I laugh, "I've got this. Why don't you go shower? I'm getting drunk off the fumes." He turns to go, "Take Finnick with you!" I shout and he comes back. Between us we get Finnick roused enough to stand and go with Haymitch—too tired to protest.

After another plate of pancakes dripping in syrup, I settle in to watch Katniss Everdeen, girl-who-was-on-fire-but-now-is-just-burnt-and-sleeping. Right now, she's positively the most boring tribute in the arena—which is saying a lot since most of them are just coughing and comically soot faced. She couldn't be more boring right now if she tried.

I play solitare as I watch her screen, flipping the cards over and over again until I hear them. They're coughing and talking—but the Careers aren't far away by the time I realize where they are. I search for something to send to alert her, but before I can do anything she's up and running on her burnt leg. She nearly crumples when she first puts weight on it, but then she's off and moving slightly faster than the pack chasing her.

She runs and jumps on to a tree, climbing as soon as her hands touch it. It's impressive. She scrambles up the tree with her burned leg almost as good as someone from my district. Everyone is watching her, all the cameras are focused on her as she looks down at the Careers below her. They smile like wolves with cornered prey, their mouths in visceral smiles. Then she does something unexpected, she _smiles._

"**How's everything with you?"** Katniss keeps smiling at them as though she has the upperhand, as though she is looking up at them and planning their demise. Funding starts to trickle into her account, the Capitol likes her spirit.

Cato glares at her, he looks so much like his brother in this moment that it makes my hand clench into a fist beside me. No, I won't be dealing with any ghosts—not now.

"**Well, enough. Yourself?"**

"**It's been a bit arm for my taste,"** Katniss says then pauses smiling a bit more. Her next words sound like a schoolyard taunt. "**The air's better up here. Why don't you come up?"**

Cato's face goes bright red, a vein in his neck stands out as he looks up at her. He's almost as big as his brother—though not quite. "**Think I will."**

The Careers talk amongst themselves, sitting down bags and stuff as Cato prepares to climb the tree. It's a trap—that much is obvious. I'm not sure what she has planned, but she does have _something_ planned. Her heartbeat is elevated, but she's calm outwardly. Excited perhaps?

Peeta doesn't even look at her. I wonder what his game is? When does he expect to defect to her? Does she even know? Are they in on it together or? But whatever he's waiting for, the time isn't now to help her—not yet. A good decision really, the Careers would kill him in a heartbeat.

Cato reaches for the tree and begins to climb in a slow clumsy way—but Katniss is already scampering up higher into the limbs of the tree. Cato is much too heavy though, I can see the limbs bending as he puts weight on them. I see him falling before I even hear the crack of the limb. He falls flat on his back all the air gone out of him—alive, but pissed. He screams a long stream of names at her and stomps around like a bratty little kid.

Glimmer—or is it Glitter?—climbs up the trees now. But it's evident very quickly that she's much too heavy to go as high as Katniss has. She steadies herself and fires a shot from her bow and arrow. It's immediately clear how inept she is with it. The first arrow goes off into a tree limb thirty feet away, but the second gets in range of Katniss before hitting nothing. The third one is off by three feet—Katniss is on it as soon as it embeds in the wood. She grabs it up and waves it like a bully holding something over a kid's head.

What's next? Are they going to start saying "Nananana!" or "I'm telling mother!" The whole thing is both ridiculous and hillarious, but then a good deal of the games often is except when it's punctuated by heartbreaking deaths and soulcrushing realizations.

The Glittery-Glimmery girl goes back to the ground and they argue quite loudly until Peeta puts a stop to it. "**Oh, let her stay up there. It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."**

Katniss and the careers both prepare for bed, ignoring each other completely as the sun sets. The woods come alive with sounds just as Haymitch comes back in, looking not much better than when he left.

"I've got her," he says. I spread out on the cot bed and drift instantly asleep.

"Wake up," Finnick shakes me awake. Before I'm even sitting up, he's got a cup of coffee under my nose. I take it uncermoniously as he points to the screen. There's heavy black circles under his eyes and there's a livid bite mark on his neck. "Look," he says.

I follow his eyes and watch as he explains. Sometime after I'd went to sleep, Katniss had seen Rue in the trees. Rue alerted her to a tracker jacker nest above her. During the anthem she'd sawn half-way through the branch and after, Haymitch had rewarded her with some well-earned burn cream.

Now it was almost light and she was sawing furiously through the branch. The tracker jackers swarm around her, angry and buzzing. Mean creatures, they're muttations made by the capitol. Unlike orindary wasps or yellow jackets, if these tracker jackers sting you, you'll begin hallucinating after one or two stings—if it doesn't kill you first. Some people can't even take the one sting, some can survive ten stings that raise apple sized lumps on your skin as long as they're not too close to the heart. But the hallucinations were unavoidable.

They sting her on her knee, neck, and her check. Her body starts to wobble as she grips a hold of the tree fiercely, trying to stay in it as she pulls out the stingers.

Down below though, the Careers are scrambling in pure panic. Peeta is the first to realize running is his only chance, but the others soon follow. Except Glimmer and the girl from Four. Finnick's face tightens as she runs, swatting at the tracker jackers—only infuriating them further. She's fighting hard but she'll never get to the lake like the others. She stumbles a bit longer then falls to the ground, crawling and screaming.

Glimmer lays on the ground barely breathing, her body twitching in sudden short convulsions every few seconds. Katniss half climbs, half falls down the tree to the ground. She stumbles, tries to stay upright and gains some sort of balance.

Her eyes are round as saucers and I can see the hallucinations have already begun. I shudder thinking of the one time I'd been stung by one tracker jacker. My palms sweat a little as I look at her, banishing thoughts of Liam rotting and stumbling around yelling my name.

Somehow, Katniss has the prescence of mind or sheer animal instinct to get the bow and arrows from Glamour. The sound of running makes her turn. She does it slowly, pulling up the bow and arrow shakily as she does it. Peeta is standing there though yelling.

"**GO!"** He screams a bunch of things, pushing her and shoving at her to move even as I see his eyes start to gain the drugged look that the tracker jackers are bringing on him.

Cato comes through the woods stumbling, his face swollen and disfigured as Katniss runs and stumbles. Cato is shouting and Peeta slashes at him, a dark streak of blood pours from a cut across Cato's chest. With a roar, he drives his sword down and into Peeta's leg so deep it must touch bone.

For a bit longer they struggle, then Peeta hits him hard and Cato goes down. Peeta barely able to stand starts to hobble away, knowing the only way he'll survive is with some distance. If only, he'd at least tried to kill Cato first….

Katniss is down and hallucinating, her body thrashing on the ground. Peeta is stumbling through the woods, following the path of the river before he finally falls down and starts to tremble with the tracker jackers.

Glaring's cannon goes off and so does the girl from Four, but the rest of the stung ones are managing fine. "Let's go," I say tugging Finnick's arm and pulling him up. His last tribute is dead. His Games are over.

We take a car and go at once to Raven's house. In the kitchen, Finnick sits as I pour him a glass of milk and warm it. His eyes are distant and I can tell how deeply this has hurt him. "Did you know her?" I keep back the biting words that would come to my lips with anyone but him.

"She dated Joseph," he says as he sips the warm milk. His brother. Probably, the last tie to Joseph that was left.

I open up the sugar bowl and push it towards him. Absently, he picks up the cubes with his long delicate fingers. He's gentle with them, not crushing them but just plopping them in his mouth to melt.

"Peeta reminds me of Liam," I say without really meaning to. I say a lot of things to Finnick I'd never tell anyone else. "It's his eyes and his manner. How he wants to protect someone. How he's trying to stay himself when you can't…you can't win that way. He knows that and he tries still."

"There's good in him," Finnick says and tosses a sugar cube in the air. I catch it with my open mouth and let the sugar dissolve on m tongue. "I keep thinking she might have been my sister…Maybe I'd have nieces and nephews. Then I remember the Games and I'm happy I'm not. I'm happy they're dead. **I wish I was dead.** Snow wouldn't be able to reach me then." He's silent, staring off in the distance as though he can see something that I can't. "If it wasn't that Annie needed me….Mags loved me….If it wasn't for you," his sea green eyes find my brown ones and holds my gaze. "I would do it."

I reach for him and his hand fits perfectly in mine in the comfortable silence. I am someone worth living for.

"If she wins," I say as the heaviness in my heart grows. "She won't get to keep her will she?" She'd volunteered to die for Prim, she loved her that much. And yet, what would Snow do if she won? He would hold Prim over her head for the rest of her days.

"She'll wish she was dead," Finnick says flatly. I'm not sure if he means Katniss will wish she's dead or wish Prim was dead. It doesn't really matter anyways. "Maybe we are dead," he says half hopeful.

"No," I say picking up a sugar cube. "If we were dead, it wouldn't hurt this much."


	129. Victor Problems

**Hey, look it's early! **

**Enjoy! XD**

**Sweetheart updated soon**

_**I'm crass, contemptuous and crude, obstreperous, obnoxious, rambunctiously raw and rude.**_

_**Mario Cantone**_

The sound of voices wake me. I open a crusty, tired eye and peer out next to me. Raven looks exhausted sitting there beside me, a plate of food in his hand. He smiles at me wearily, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It's then that I realize it's not his legs thrown across me or his arm.

I turn my head to the other side and see Finnick lying there on his stomach too. His mouth is slightly open and his face is peaceful. I turn my head back to Raven, unwilling to roll over and wake up Finnick.

"Don't wake him," Raven says softly. "It's okay if he stays." His fingers brush my jawline. "You both could use the rest."

"Three's a crowd though," I kiss his thumb and he stops moving his hand.

"Finnick doesn't bother me Johanna. I know how things are between you. I also know what people think, and I don't care."

I know he's telling the truth, but I wonder why it is that he doesn't care? The love in his eyes is evident along with his trust. What have I ever done to earn him? I lean into his palm and shut my eyes. He puts the plate on the beside table and slips down in the bed beside me.

"Don't forget the party tomorrow," he says. I had forgotten it. It was a bit of a celebration in honour of a colleagues engagement—Brody and Glorianna. Champagne would be flowing, long gowns, and Finnick, Raven and Acanthus in tuxedos.

I press my lips to Raven's gently. "I won't forget. I'll wear that red dress."

He laughs, "It's how I'll always think of you." His eyes are closing and my heart lurches in my chest. I think he feels it too, that something is coming and that I am being pulled away. I twine my hand with his and drift off to sleep.

It should be awkward to wake up in a bed with two men. It should be even more awkward to wake up to two men sharing a plate of sugar cookies and using your back as a table. When I stretch, Finnick snatches up the cookies before they can be dislodged from the plate.

"I've never seen this movie before," Finnick says through a mouth full of cookies.

"The best part is coming. The kid makes the pizza delivery guy think he's a gangster," Raven says reaching for another cookie. I glare at the both of them who seem to be willfully ignoring me. Finally, I get the plate away from Finnick and shove a few cookies in my mouth.

Having seen the movie before, I get up to go shower. I wouldn't be that surprised if I came out and found Finnick and Raven planning my wardrobe or picking matching china.

The water runs over me and I try to wash away the ache of the past few days. Worry still clouds my mind, looming right on the edge of my thoughts and threatening to consume me. Soon I'd find out if Katniss had survived and who was left in the Games.

There was a lot of raw material there with the girl, but would we be able to shape her into what we needed? A figurehead, an enigma, a rallying point? Did she have it in her?

I don't know. I want it to be there and I think I see it, but perhaps I'm only seeing what I want to see. My mind lingers on her as I dry off and pull on some clothes to attend to matters down stairs.

Katniss still hallucinates, most of those that are stung do. Nothing at all really happens, not that it can be avoided. At least during the party tonight, we won't be bothered by Game updates. For a little bit, the Games will fade into the background.

Jacob helps me forget my worries as I watch him. He talks to me in sentences now, though it seems as though just yesterday I was holding him in my arms for the first time. He might be the only child I ever have—not that Raven doesn't want them. It's not even that I don't want them, just not here—not in Panem or while Snow lives.

"We go swim with Finnicky?" He asks raising both his eyebrows in an attempt to raise one like he's seen me do.

"We will. Then we'll have sandwiches and then you'll get to go upstairs to my room and watch a movie before you to go to bed. Then you'll tell me all about it tomorrow. Okay?"

He nods as Finnick comes in and swoops him up. We spend the next few hours splashing around in the pool. Finnick teaches Jacob to do a doggy paddle while Raven holds me close. For a moment, I almost forget about things like the games or Reapings or Katniss Everdeen.

Almost.

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><p>The night is warm and moist. It'll probably rain soon with how humid the air is. I slip into the dress as red as autumn leaves. It hugs the contours of my body, but reveals only hints of sensual skin. It is fierce and beautiful, the first thing besides the food that I loved in the Capitol. It's been five years and I still think of it in that same light.<p>

I smooth the dress over my thighs and then apply the red lipstick that goes with the dress. It looked like I'd just feasted on a tributes jugular like Enobaria did. It's oddly becoming of me.

I slip on some stilettos that Raven had gifted me this morning. Despite the height of them, they're comfortable tied up with red silk ribbons. My hair falls down my back in a straight shiny sheen.

Downstairs the guests begin to arrive and I greet them with a warmth I don't feel. The women clasp my hand and murmur polite things about my appearance. The men are careful and respectful of me, fully aware that Raven looms somewhere nearby. It has always struck me hard that they fear him more than me. Perhaps I'm the devil they know. My whole life has practically been on the television. Everyone knows everything about me—but not Raven.

We toast the newly engaged couple as they tell us of their extravagant plans. I smile and present them with a bottle of wine that is worth a year of my Victor's salary.

"You're dress is lovely," Glorianna the newly engaged girl says. Her eyes are bright and shining. She lowers her lashes and her voice, "Are you and Raven…" She blushes furiously at the question.

"No, we're not." I laugh lightly, people are always asking.

"Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"No, I'm the one who's not ready yet. Things are so perfect the way they are…." I trail off and smile broadly at her again, envying Enobaria for her pointed teeth that would have worked wonderfully for this smile. Instead, I content myself with being polite.

Speak of the devil, Enobaria is over there her hand on a tall man's arm and her lips pulled back in that feral laugh of hers. Like any animal she can feel the eyes of the hunter on her and she turns to me. Her eyes lock and hold for a moment with mine and she tilts her glass at me in a friendly manner. I reciprocate the movement and we both drink.

It's then that I notice that there seems to be a shortage of serving trays. I set my glass down and move past the blushing servers to the kitchen door. I pause for a moment, hearing a small whimpering.

I shove open the door and I see Belvedere thrown on the counter, her dress hiked up around her thighs muffling her sobs as a man pulls open his fly. "Shut up," his voice is thick and heavy. He knows she can't—won't refuse him.

I don't even think, I just react. Grabbing him by the shoulders, I tug him backwards. "Get off of her!"

He stumbles for a moment and then he slaps me hard across the face until I stumble into the counter. My head is ringing and my face burns hot where his hand has hit me. My hands are flat on the counter, inches away from the knife blade. I stretch out my fingers and wrap them around the handle. I turn back to him with the blade hanging in my hand by my side.

The anger and bloodlust wells in me. I lunge for him with the knife but someone catches me around my waist and restrains me. I struggle briefly before Raven gets the blade from my hand and let's me go.

"What happened?" Raven's voice is deadly calm. Belvedere is trying not to cry, pulling her dress down. She doesn't look up or respond in any way. It's dangerous for her to say anything.

"He was trying to rape her," I spit out lunging at him again.

The man's face is livid. "I sponsored her, she owes me. We were just going to have a little fun when the slut." He gestures at me, "She attacked me." He slams his hand down on the table where Belevedere had just been, she jumps at the sound. His eyes are glaring at Raven. "What are you going to do about her?

Raven considers him for a long moment and then slams the knife blade through the back of the man's hand and slams his other hand over the man's mouth. "Shut up. Be quiet. Now."

I stand there mouth agape as Raven manhandles him. "What's your name?"

"Adrian Laven," he gasps out.

Brody speaks clearly as he reads. "Laven. Yes, he's here on the list." He hands the tablet over to Raven.

Raven's eyes flick over the screen. "Your family is deep in debt. Consider it called in. All the money by tomorrow."

"I can't. I don't have it," the man pleads but Raven's hand is holding the knife that pins his hand.

"I don't care. You came into my house, where my son Jacob is. You caused danger, you disrespected me and my lady. You will not speak to another Victor ever again. You will not try to punish her or any of them."

"Fine, fine. I'll do it. Just don't call the debt."

"No, the debt is called. Your family will be on the streets tomorrow. I will take everything from you until you bleed. I will leave you in the streets to starve and when you can't take anymore of it you'll hit rock bottom. The only thing left is up. Then I will take that from you too. They will find your body in a fountain and no one will care. No one will remember you. But your last thoughts will be that I did this to you." He wrenches the blade out of Adrian's hand, blood spurts out as he drags him out the back way with Brody close behind him.

Belvedere comes to me and I hold her as she tries to pull herself together. Everything in me feels both cold and oddly alive. I have never seen this side of Raven before. I have heard stories, I have seen Snow treat him with deference…but I had never seen the brutality close at hand. He was just as animal as I am, or even Enobaria. His usually calm face had been feral and angry, protective of what was his. I'd seen that look once before when he'd called in a debt to Seneca Crane.

Instead of bothering me, I feel a warmth spread through my body—a kind of contentment that makes me hot for him. I know that no part of him was bluffing. He meant what he said. I should be repulsed by that not turned on.

He is mine though and we are more alike than I realized. In another world, a parallel existence he might have been a Victor too.

I take Belvedere up the back stairs to a guest room. Her thighs are bruised and her dress is ripped. I help her out of it and she covers her nakedness with her hands as I help her on with a shirt. She's been sensitive ever sense they replaced her lost breasts from the fight in the arena. Still, she had brought information to us by giving herself over to any man or woman who wanted her. No act was too degrading when the promise of revenge would be her reward.

"I shouldn't have cried," she says pleading. "I should have just let him. He just scared me is all. I've never done that before, no matter what was wanted."

"Shhh.." I push her hair back from her face. In the privacy of this room, we are friends. "Raven will take care of it."

"Will he?" Her voice breaks and her eyes are wide. I know she's thinking of her man back home, the one who works in a place they call the Nut. She's sacrificed a lot by being honest with him, but he had loved her enough to let it be—just as Annie did for Finnick.

"Yes, he won't bother you again. Not ever." But I can't stop the others, Belvedere would never be safe—not like I was.

There's a knock on the door and Acanthus comes in, his brow furrowed. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," Belvedere flashes a brilliant smile as he comes in.

"Delainey's here," he sits down on the bed as though all the air had gone out of him. I'd seen her myself, her stomach just starting to show the son of his she was carrying. The foolish girl had even asked me about him, eager to see him. She was in love with him. Looking at Acanthus, I wasn't sure that he didn't feel for her in some way.

Belvedere touches his hand gently. "He'll be safe," she says. The words are simple, but they mean a lot to us Victors. Safety isn't something we actually get much of.

"One of my sons," he closes his eyes and lays back on the bed. In twelve or seventeen years his son could be reaped if the Rebellion doesn't happen. He'd made a deal with Snow to keep him safe, but that safety was fragile as peace.

But if we failed with the Rebellion, there might not be anything left after the smoke clears. And I wonder, not for the first time, that if we don't win perhaps mutual destruction might be better.


	130. The Hungry Games

**I"M BACK BABY. So let's get this Revolution started. New computer comes in soon. Spring is here. Things are mostly good. Next update should be about Monday/Tuesday. Perhaps earlier.**

_**"If you want to rebel, rebel from inside the 's much more powerful than rebelling outside the system."  
>― <strong>__**Marie Lu**__**, **__**Legend**_

* * *

><p>The paper feels heavy in my hands as I read the article on page 2.<p>

_Adrian Laven was found in a fountain this morning. Cause of death likely accidental—drowning while intoxicated. The family wishes to extend their gratitude to Raven DeCroix for his help in their time of need. Adrian Laven left behind a sister, mother, and pregnant wife. _

Raven pours me a glass of hot coffee as I pass Finnick the paper. "Beat me to the punch," he says lightly. "His family's glad to be rid of him. I forgave the debt since the matter resolved itself." He says it casually, so off-handedly that it throws me off. I'm a good judge of emotions, of faces but I'm not sure if it's the truth or not. His face is completely blank, no flicker of remorse, regret, or relief. I can't tell if he's telling the truth or not and it bothers me.

I eat my eggs as Acanthus and Belvedere come in. Acanthus looks well-rested for the first time in weeks, but Belvedere looks decidedly worse for wear. I grab the newspaper from Finnick and hand it over to her. "Should sleep better now."

Her bow-shaped lips tremble a moment before the mask falls in place. "Do you have any toast?" Finnick hands a plate over to her and rubs at the sleep in his eyes. Most of our little meal passes in silence before the sun is even up.

Raven kisses me gently on the forehead and heads to work as the rest of us head to the Training Center. The limo rolls through the quiet streets. This time of the morning, the Capitol is a ghost town but back home the world would be thrumming with life.

In the Training Center everyone is drinking the coffee as fast as it's brought in. It's the seventh day of the Games and everyone has lost sleep. One look at the screen shows that we are down to ten tributes. The last day and a half most of those stung have been lost in a haze of pain and nightmares. Katniss has begun stirring.

Her body is all angles, nothing but skin and bones with the odd bulging leftover stings by the tracker jackers livid on her skin. Most of the das passes that way, watching her gain strength and practice with her bow. She even kills some fresh meat. Haymitch is snoring behind us on the cot, refusing to leave even though we're watching for him.

Peeta though has been awake for a bit longer. He uses mud as a poultice, but the wound already looks as though it's beginning to fester. He's too weak to go far, so over the afternoon we watch him paint himself to blend in with the bank. By the time the sun starts to dip, he shuts his eyes in exhaustion and disappears from view. The illusion he's created is masterful.

Cato is decidedly worse for wear with his livid stings. He stomps around and leads his diminished group from place to place in search of Katniss—but she is too light of foot, too much of a hunter for him to find her with his inferior tracking skills.

Rue follows Katniss' path through the trees and catches up with her as Katniss begins roasting a bird she killed. Katniss moves fluidly, her body pivoting toward the sound that Rue has made. Something flickers in her eyes.

No one breathes, watching what Katniss will do. Rue doesn't move or breathe. Then Katniss' voice fills the air, "**You know, they're not the only ones who can form alliances."**

"Haymitch isn't going to be happy," Finnick smiles. "But I like it. I like her. She's got—"

"Balls," I say as I watch them forge one of those strange alliances that occur in the Games. Katniss is tender in a way that we haven't seen her since she spoke about her sister Prim. or now all the blunt edges are gone, all the angles and sharp corners—there is a softness in her that becomes her in some odd way. She doesn't seem half so old as she acts. Their smiles—the joy they share between each other is so bright it is painful.

Every second they spend with each other, they are tied tighter and tighter together in their alliance. Katniss will never kill Rue, but someone else will. I just hope it doesn't get Katniss killed too.

Rue is too young to survive. A few more years on her and she could have been a real contender, but she is only twelve—only a child no matter how much she tries not to be.

Katniss and Rue share everything, theie food in case they get separated from each other and they treat each other's wounds. They share knowledge and compassion. It hurts to watch them, so I don't.

In a quiet hallway, I stand with my hand on the wall lost to memories. I can almost feel Liam's hand in mine as we walked to the forest. His eyes were so blue that it shamed the skies. It hits me again that he is dead, but how can he be? How can someone so vibrant and alive….How can they not be alive?

Something squeezes my heart like a vise. Snow. It is Snow that does these things to me, that squeezes my heart to bursting. I push aside thoughts of Liam, of sweet little Rue and go back to Control.

The next few hours are torture watching them bond, but finally the Capitol seal comes up. No one died today, it won't be long before they try to shake things up.

"**We're strong, too," **Katniss stares up at the sky. "**Just in a different way."**

"**You are. You can shoot. What can I do?" **Haymitch is pouring a cup of coffee when Rue speaks.

"**You can feed yourself. Can they?"** The coffee overfills Haymitch's cup, Finnick holds his breath, and I smile wickedly. Yes. Yes!

"**They don't need to. They have all those supplies," Rue says.**

"**Say they didn't. Say the supplies were gone. How long would they last?" **Katniss says. "**I mean, it's the Hunger Games, right?"**

"Oh sh-" Finnick trails off.

"Is she really saying what I think she is?" Acanthus asks then suddenly remembers the uneaten donut in his hand.

"Yes," Haymitch and I both answer at once.

"**But, Katniss, they're not hungry," says Rue.**

"**No, they're not. That's the problem,"** Katniss says so simply. I can see something dark and hard glinting in her eyes. Now this is something I can get behind. "**I think we're going to have to fix that, Rue."**

They nestle in the trees and Rue is asleep in seconds. But Katniss is awake and thinking.

"She's right, they don't know how to feed themselves. They're strong, but they don't know anything about food gathering," Acanthus brushes the powder from his donut on his pants.

"But it won't be easy to take it from them," Finnick counters.

"It can be done," Haymitch says with conviction. "They don't know what it's like." He means the careers, "They don't know what it feels like to starve. Rue and Katniss, they're used to it."

Katniss finally falls asleep snuggled up in her bag with Rue. I think about what she's said about starving out the careers. They always focus on hunting people, but not food. There is no finesse about them. Survivalists who don't know how to survive except with brute force.

Haymitch leaves and Acanthus sits down. "Starving them out?That hasn't occurred to others before? Is the idea so novel?"

"Well there was the fourty-second games and the fifty-sixth games were there was a similar strategy," I offer.

"Really? Did it work?"

"I made that up you idiot. How should I know what happened in those games?" I shake my head at him. "What did you think about in the arena? Surviving right? You thought about overcoming the careers and outfighting them. You wanted to outsmart them, not out-starve them. I didn't think of it either."

"Little jealous are you?" Acanthus smirks

"I wouldn't call it jealous. Petty. Angry. Dubious but not jealous."

"She is a bit much, I'll give her that. She's been loved from the beginning. Can't imagine what that feels like."

"Well, it's not like we'll ever know," I laugh.

* * *

><p>The sound of a cannon knocks me out of the bed. My heart hurts with how hard it's beating, and I feel a scream trapped in my throat. It comes back to me slowly that I am not in the arena, that I'm in Control. Finnick is kneeling over me, coaxing me back to awareness. He pulls me to him and I clutch him hard trying to banish my own nightmares.<p>

"The boy from 10 is dead. The careers hunted him down. Katniss and Rue are alive. Peeta is barely. You're alive. You're in Control."

I push back from him, "Okay. I'm okay." Finnick helps me to my feet and leads me out of Control. The world is hazy and shadowy as we navigate down corridors until the light touches my skin. I breathe deep in the fresh air, devoid of the terrible perfume of roses.

The sound of voices drift to us and we stop out of habit, out of preservation.

"These Games are too tame. No one is going to remember them. Some little hotshot from the Careers will win without there ever being a real fight. Unless…"

"Unless?" The first voice is Haymitch's, but neither of us can figure out who the second one is.

"What if the games were shook up a little? There are three pairs from Districts left."

"Your pair among them."

"Yes, but there's the set of Careers. There's Rue and Thresh. This could be the biggest Games ever. Two winners. Think about it. This would be Hunger Games history.

"I don't know."

"You could be Head Gamemaker for life." I raise an eyebrow at Finnick and we make our way back in before we're caught listening.

So that's Haymitch's plan? He wants to bring them both home? Nothing like that has ever been done in Game's history…if he could pull it off though, it would be revolutionary.

Which is exactly what we're hoping for.


	131. Kill Your Light

**Root Canals suck. Also, this is THAT chapter. So is the next one. So major tissue warning. (Also next chapter is already written). I'll update it Saturday if we get 10 reviews, if not I'll update Tuesday.**

_**From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.**_

_**Edvard Munch**_

* * *

><p>It's an idea, I'll give him that. How long has Haymitch been concocting this scheme? How much has he groomed Peeta into this? Or is this a back-up plan? My respect for him goes up substantially.<p>

Finnick and I don't talk about what we've heard, lost in thoughts of how different our Games could have been. Would I have tried to bring Wren home? Strange how he is one of few who don't haunt my nightmares. When I try to conjure up his face in my mind, it's vague and blurry. I cannot remember him distinctly, he is softened by time. I don't know if it's better to have nightmares or forget the people in them. What if I forget Liam? Sven? Greta?

I reach for their memories, but they are sharp—every detail easy to recall. The fear in me subsides some as Finnick takes me to his floor. I crawl into his bed and watch out the window as life goes by. He leaves me alone with my thoughts, but his presence is as noticeable as if he's touching my skin.

The Games bring back so many bad memories and a few good ones, always bookended with sorrow. Wren's eyes looking up at me. For some reason I remember that, though his face is a blur. The black curtain of Eve's hair as dark as night, the feel of an Avox's hand when he comforted me on that first train ride…That moment in a rainstorm when Ivan took me for the first time—all that's left of it is blurred edges, as though a fog has rolled in. All the terrible memories are ingrained in my mind, but the good ones are fleeing.

The look on Aeon's face is sharp as ever, even the exact shade of the sky as I killed him. I could tell you what my heart sounded like as we fought. I can count each blade of grass in that moment in my memory. As long as I live, and I think, long after, the memory will remain to haunt me. It will endure past my pitiful life even as the good fades.

Wren's hands were fine-boned when he reached for me, asked me to be his partner as though he could protect me. But I can't see his face anymore nor remember the sound of his voice, only those fine long fingers reaching toward me. I hold onto that as if I can grip his hands once more. But I can't forget him. I am all that is left to remember him.

At some time my eyes close and I'm lost in a fog that seems to be over everything around me. The chill sinks into my bones, and I shiver as I walk through the fog, but I am not afraid. The gravestones around me are not sinister.

A voice wafts to me that stops my heart. "Jo? Wait…"

He said those words to me a thousand years ago. I turn, tears burning in my eyes eager to escape. His eyes are green. His face is fine boned and his nose is long, thin. His hair is feathery soft at his temples. I'd forgotten that.

There are tears on his cheeks, "You remember me?" His voice breaks, and I place my hand on his heart, where I had put a dagger to end his suffering. I can feel it beating hard against my hand, like a bird trying to break free of his cage. My bird.

His hand closes over mine, both resting over his heart. "I think about you all the time, Wren. I promised, didn't I?" My other hand traces the lines of his face, "I'd forgotten what you looked like. You were fading from my memories. I did-didn't want that."

"I guess that's why I'm here." I raise my eyebrow at him. "I heard you calling me, and so I walked through this fog until I found you." He pauses, gripping my hand tighter. "Tell me the truth. Did it...did it cost too much?"

Killing him, he means-stopping his suffering. "No, it cost nothing Wren." His tears fall onto our hands, or maybe it's my tears, or both, I don't know. "Helping you, it's one of a very few things I'm glad I've done. I don't regret it. You don't haunt me."

Wren pulls me close to him, "Be careful Jo, you're still playing the Games. I'm here, if you need me. I'm here."

"I'm here." He kisses my forehead and my eyes flutter open slowly, disoriented. My cheeks are stained with tears as Finnick kisses my forehead. "I'm here Jo. I'm here."

* * *

><p>By the time we make it back to Control, Katniss is by herself. Before I can ask though, Finnick does.<p>

"Where's Rue?" He looks wary, almost sad.

"Separated," Acanthus stands up stretching.

"That didn't last long," I mutter.

"No, they're doing it. They talked for awhile, but they're doing it. Rue is going to set off some fires to draw the careers away from camp then Katniss will destroy all their supplies. Then they'll meet up again." Acanthus pours another cup of coffee, "Haymitch should be back soon."

"Where is he?" I sit down on the desk and ruffle Acanthus hair.

He sighs contentedly, "He's gone to talk to someone." Acanthus squints again, "I want to sleep but it's going to be soon."

When I look at the screen, I see Katniss watching from some ways away as the Careers begin to bicker. "Why the hell does it look like that?"

"That kid from three, he's rigged the mines around the supplies. There's some weird kind of path to it, if you know how to get to it."

"Well, we missed everything." Finnick hands Acanthus a steaming plate of eggs and sausage.

Katniss knows something is wrong. I can see her working it out on her face, she just doesn't know what's wrong with it yet-but she knows it's a trap. That's good. But then, I knew she wasn't stupid.

One of the cameras focuses on Rue as she lights one of the fires she and Katniss had set up as a diversion. She's off as soon as it's caught good enough not to go out. She's so light on her feet that she barely leaves an imprint to show she's passed through.

It doesn't take long before the Careers see the fire and start arguing more.

**"He's coming. We need him in the woods, and his job's done here anyway. No one can touch those supplies," says Cato.**

**"What about Lover Boy?" says the boy from District 1.**

**"I keep telling you, forget about him. I know where I cut him. It's a miracle he hasn't bled to death yet. At any rate, he's in no shape to raid us," says Cato.**

The live feed cuts to Peeta lying in his creek bed, covered in mud. He is whispering Katniss' name. With how things are going, she might get there in time to put him out of his misery. Is that why Wren came to me today?

The Careers amble off, leaving their home base unattended. Katniss studies them from the woods, her brow wrinkled in thought. She doesn't rush, but neither does the other girl hiding in the woods. Everyone has taken to calling her Foxface because of her red hair and fine features, not to mention that she's sly and cunning. Caesar mentioned earlier that her name-Sinopa- even meant fox.

So far she's hidden without coming in to contact with almost...anything. She has been invisible. But now she darts out toward the Cornocopia. When she gets close though, she does a fascinating and calculated series of movements. She hops, rolls, tiptoes, and practically dives until she can reach the loot.

Her movements are precise. She takes only a little from each container, though she is starving. Foxface's clothes hang loose on her, her fine bones stand out startlingly in her face. Her stomach is slightly bloated-but I recognize it for what it is, the bloatedness of hunger. How starving must she be to risk this? Yet, she restrains herself from taking too much-just enough to get by.

She sneaks out just as easily as she snuck in, and she disappears back into the woods-back into oblivion.

Katniss though stands there in the woods, the bow loose in her hands and she tries to figure it out. Then something dawns on her and she whispers, "**It's mined."** She takes a few steps out finally and her eyes drift around until she sees where the mines have been dug up, moved.

My faith in her goes up, begrudgingly.

On another screen Rue sets off the second fire before disappearing back in the woods. Katniss is watching critically, her face blank as she stares with the bow easy in her hand.

"Come on, come on…" Haymitch is breathing hoarsely behind me. He reeks of cheap perfume and his eyes are bloodshot, he really is giving everything for this girl. I eye the funds critically, there's some there not too much yet. He could send the boy something, but…

I take a look at Peeta's monitor, he's fevered. Whatever Haymitch sends him won't do much good now. If he can't swing the plan he's working on then Peeta will die soon.

Katniss sets her feet and nocks an arrow. The string goes taut and she takes deep, steadying breaths. The string touches her lip for a moment then the arrow is loose. It rips through a bag of apples impossibly far away. But the shot is easy for her despite the length. The next arrow comes faster with assurance and splits the bag wider like a gaping mouth. I'm on my feet, Haymitch is holding his breath, and Acanthus drops his fork into his plate. The last arrow is drawn, nocked and fired in one beautiful poised movement. It flies true, tugging the edge of the swaying bag down. The apples fall out, bounce off the crates and then the dirt.

The explosion rocks the cameras and Katniss is thrown back. Haymitch is cursing, Acanthus drops his plate and Finnick is searching for signs of life from Katniss where she lays still on the ground. My eyes go to the monitor, her heartbeat is high but stable.

"She's alive!" I say in shock. But how hurt would she be?

Then another explosion goes off, then another, and another. The sound is deafening here, it must be horrible with how close she is. Her eyes are a little unfocused, but she's held on to her weapon and covered her face.

A minute passes before the bombing stops and my ears are left ringing as she gets up. But as soon as she stands, she goes right back down to her hands and knees. She is unfocused and there is blood pouring out of her left ear.

"Ruptured eardrum," Finnick says matter-of-factly. It's not as crippling as say a broken leg, but it's almost as bad. If she can't hear in the other ear, she's as good as dead. She waits on her hands and knees, her elbows shaking from exertion not fear. Finally, she crawls though she's still close enough that when a stray mine goes off, she's thrown to the ground.

Katniss tilts her head, but you can tell she can hardly hear anything. Was it permanent? Was our great shining hope dead?

She makes it to a bush and dives in moments before the Careers get back. Cato, the spitting image of his brother, is rage personified-as though that could help. But he's a Career, he has the luxury of being able to scream. Though they try there is nothing left to salvage. The boy from Three should have taken his chance and run while they were looking for supplies, but he doesn't. One quick, clean jerk and he's dead. Cato drops him at his feet like a rag doll, his neck at an odd angle.

"Cato! Cato, whoever did it is dead. They blew themselves to hell. That's one less."

"We have no food, Clove."

The boy from one, points away. "Let's talk by the water. Refill our canteens. We've got water. Let them pick up the body, then we'll hunt down the rest. Right, Cato?"

The hours sift by with Katniss lying still as death in that bush until it's night. The Seal comes up and it shows the boy from 3 and the one from 10 are dead. Now they know that whoever blew up their food of the few left-is still alive. And they're ready to hunt.

They go the opposite way though and Katniss stays put. She must realize that she's safest sitting right where she is.

Haymitch sleeps and so does Finnick and Acanthus as I watch her. Rue is hidden up a tree, the Careers had come dangerously close to catching her before. I pass the few hours of my shift watching the Careers hunt futilely while Rue and Katniss remain safe. Thresh is off in this big field of grain where no one has bothered to go. He's gotten heavier, more well fed in the Arena. That's a first.

"I hope it doesn't come down to Rue and Katniss," Beetee's voice is soft. "How would they even decide that?" He sits down next to me adjusting his glasses.

"I don't know Volts, I don't think they know themselves. Let's hope it doesn't."

His eyes are sad. "Sleep Johanna, I'll watch. I won't be able to sleep for awhile." I touch his hand by some odd instinct then draw it away quickly. He is mourning his tribute and he is avenging him by helping us. I know that he is with us in the Rebellion, even if in some far off corner of his mind he hoped that his tribute might still have a chance.

I curl up on the floor and go to sleep.

* * *

><p>We spend most of the day playing cards while we watch Katniss. She can hear some at least out of one ear, but seems to be completely deaf in the other. It's only made her warier. Rue sneaks through the woods, finally able to get out of her tree sure that the Careers are far enough away.<p>

Rue lets out the whistle she taught Katniss. The birds-mockingjays-listen attentively then pick up the tune. It carries, ripples away through the tops of the trees. A few minutes later, Katniss smiles at the sound of it and whistles back.

It happens so quick that I'm not sure what happened at first. Rue is screaming, loudly-yanked into a net a few feet in the air. She's screaming bloody murder. All I can think about is how Annie screamed like that when Triton's head landed in her lap. **"Katniss! Katniss!"**

The blonde from One is running toward her, but so is Katniss. "**Rue! I'm coming!" **There is anguish on her face. It's a race against time, against the screams who will reach Rue first the boy or Katniss? And who of the three, if not all, will die?

Katniss and the boy break through at the same time. Rue shrieks Katniss name again and reaches wildly for her, desperation and hope in her eyes. The boy's spear goes straight through her back out of her stomach. Before the smile even touches the boy's eyes, Katniss' arrow goes through his throat. He claws at it and succeeds in pulling it out. He doesn't even last five seconds.

But in those five seconds Katniss is screaming, **"Are there more?" **Her eyes frantic as she looks around for the rest of the Careers who aren't there. Beetee is crying beside me. Acanthus is pale and I reach for his hand. I know he's thinking of Isadora, I am too. And Wren. And Feora.

Tears blind my eyes as I think of Liam dying in the Arena. I wonder if before they drowned, Greta or Sven screamed for me? Helpless. Sometimes I don't think there's a more terrible word or feeling.

Someone reaches for my hand, and I take it without thinking. Grief has united us. She is a child. Rue should never have been there-it could have been Katniss' sister if she hadn't volunteered. The big picture comes in sharp, this thin gaunt girl holding all the world at bay to protect her sister. The image of it overwhelms me and I see it, for the first time, _really_ see it. Katniss holding Rue, the net pooled around her. She is showing grief for this girl who is not from her District. She is not playing games like I did, she is simply surviving. Probably thinking about how this could have been her sister, how everyone must be thinking that now.

The spark she's created glows past embers in my own heart into small flames. The heat of it flickers up bright and hot in me, warming all the coldness in me. What must it be doing all over Panem?


	132. A Sound of Trumpets

_**Time doesn't love you anymore**_  
><em><strong>But I-I-I I'm still knocking at your door<strong>_  
><em><strong>Honey, we can run forever, if forever's what's in store<strong>_  
><em><strong>Oh, time to take me home<strong>_

_**Time by Mikky Echo**_

**Bold statements are direct quotes from book. Things should keep moving faster now.**

* * *

><p><strong>"You blew up the food?"<strong> Rue's voice is soft, death is at least coming swiftly for her.

I hear a muffled sob beside me and realize that it's Seeder's hand I'm holding. Her strong face is lined with tears, I don't think I've ever seen her cry before. But how could she not? I feel my own tears hot on my face, moved by something in me that I thought long dormant. I want to still scream into the heavens, rage against the Capitol-but in this moment, it does not matter. All that matters is what is happening on screen, what is happening to Katniss and Rue.

**"Every last bit,"** Katniss voice is choked. There are tears running down her face, this stoic noble girl who didn't even cry when she was reaped. I see her in my mind again volunteering for her sister.

**"You have to win,"** Rue says it so simply.

**"I'm going to. Going to win for both of us now,"** Katniss voice is steel. The undercurrent ripples out, flows through my veins like I'm touched by a live wire.

A cannon goes off and my heart drops, but it's only the boy from One's. No one cares about him, not now.

**"Don't go." Rue**'s voice is soft, no trace of pain.

**"Course not. Staying right here,"** Katniss holds Rue gently. Her fingers go through Rue's hair, brushes it away from her face. There is no mistaking the love they share. It sprang up so easily between them, so blind and trusting. The Games are not supposed to allow that-not supposed to let us feel for the other tributes. If we do feel for them, we hide it-but not Katniss. Not her.

**"Sing,"** Rue's voice is barely audible, her lips fumbling the word.

"She loves music," Chaff's voice is soft. "Loved," he corrects himself.

"Don't you say that!" Seeder screams slamming her hands into his chest. I grab her from behind. It takes both Finnick and I to pull her off of him, but when we do she collapses to the floor taking us with her. I hold her tightly, but Chaff comes to her on his knees, reaching to her for comfort.

She gives it. Her arms are against his chest, her face towards the screen as she sobs. His tears mix with hers. I don't let go of her though. Somehow I just can't. Finnick's eyes look into mine and I see the anguish there that I know is mirrored in my own.

Katniss struggles. It's hard for her to get the words out-hard to get it past the grief she's feeling-that we _all_ are feeling. She keeps stroking Rue's soft hair, easing her to death.

**Deep in the meadow, under the willow**

**A bed of grass, a soft green pillow**

**Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes**

Katniss' voice cracks so hard that I don't think she'll be able to continue. Seeder's sobs shake my own body. But Katniss picks up the tune again with a deep breath:

**And when again they open, the sun will rise.**

**Here it's safe, here it's warm**

But it's not safe, nothing is. Nothing.

**Here the daisies guard you from every harm**

Rue's eyes close slowly and I know they won't open again, her breathing is barely audible, her heart skips beats.

**Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true**

**Here is the place where I love you.**

Rue's lips twitch at the corner and I know she's trying to smile. Easy as that, they love each other. No ruse, no deception. For not even two days, they loved each other absolutely, knowing that it could never end well for either of them. That friendship would not be enough to bring them home.

Katniss is crying harder, her voice coming out in a strangled croak. But she pushes on.

**Deep in the meadow, hidden far away**

**A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray**

**Forget your woes and let your troubles lay**

**And when again it's morning, they'll wash away.**

**Here it's safe, here it's warm**

**Here the daisies guard you from every harm**

Katniss voice is so soft, so filled with grief, that they use subtitles on the feed. But I can't read them, the lines are too blurred. No, my eyes are too blurred. Finnick's head leans against mine.

**Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true**

**Here is the place where I love you**.

Katniss holds Rue, stunned. Her tears fall onto Rue's face, mix with the tears that Rue had cried in little pools on her cheeks. As if the whole thing wasn't sad enough, the birds have flocked to the trees above them. There is silence and then the woods echo with the sound of the birds.

They have taken up the tune. Their voices follow the simple melody and echo all around them like some angelic chorus. It ripples through the trees and spreads as though the skies and trees themselves were singing.

The cannon goes off. The whole world seems devoid of any sound. Katniss brushes Rue's hair back one more time and kisses her forehead as though Rue is only sleeping, laying her down on the ground.

For a moment, Katniss stands. She sobs, and then something comes over her face. My heart feels like it stops, because I know that face. I know that feeling, it is rage. She takes the boy from 1's stuff, and Rue's stuff and then she stands there, this trembling seething girl.

Suddenly, she walks off-but only a few feet away. No one speaks, we're all captivated. She cuts and rips and pulls up flowers, loads her arms with them then walks back to Rue. There are sobs echoing around the room as she takes the flowers and covers the gaping wound in Rue's stomach.

With flowers, Katniss covers Rue's entire body in beauty to honour her death. No one does this, no one. But when she is done, she stands and looks at Rue one final time. "**Bye Rue,"** Katniss takes the three fingers of her left hand and raises them to her lips. Then she walks away.

"It's a sign of respect. Of honour and farewell to someone you love," Haymitch's voice is soft. "It's a thank you. It's so much more than words can possibly mean."

We are numb as we watch her, going through the woods ready and willing to kill anyone she can. She is a hunter now, no more hiding or running. Not anymore.

Hours pass in her hunt, but she finds no one. I realize dimly that Seeder and Chaff are gone, but Finnick is still there, though my arms grip nothing where Seeder once was.

As if summoned by this, Seeder sits down next to me just as the parachute drifts from the sky down to Katniss. "It's bread from home." Seeder's voice is hoarse. "It was meant for Rue, but...they wanted it to go to Katniss. They wanted to thank her." Even though it could have went to Thresh. I look at the screen, at the exorbitant cost of bread. How much it must have cost them to send it to her. How many families would go starving tonight in Eleven because of this gift? And how many of them wouldn't care if they did?

"At home, they'll go to Rue's family. They'll bring them food or comfort. They'll do what small things they can." She looks at me with her warm brown eyes, "Even if it's just to hold their hand." She reaches for my hand and I give it to her, thinking of how my sister would have been about Rue's age. Thinking about how if she was alive, she might have been reaped-that Katniss might have been trying to save _her._

"**My thanks to the people of District Eleven," **Katniss knows. You can see the heavy weight of it on her.

When the Capitol Seal comes up, the boy from One-Marvel and Rue's faces are shown in the sky. All through the night, we watch her-our grief too much to sleep. Watching Katniss is grief enough though.

I cannot sleep. I cannot move from my spot on the floor. I am trapped there, Finnick tries to coax me away. Katniss can barely move, her grief is so immobilizing. It immobilizes me. Acanthus lifts me up and carries me away. I am too tired to refuse.

Nightmares come to me but I can't fight my way out of them. I'm running through that terrible fog looking for Greta, Sven, Liam, and Ivan. My screams echo back to me eerily. I run until I can't breath. That's when I see him.

Ivan is there. My heart soars at the sight of him, but I before I can speak Aeon shoves a spear through his back. Blood froths out of Ivan's mouth and I am screaming. I rush at Aeon though I have no weapon. His hand is at my throat, strangling me, the blackness creeping over me. All I can think is just kill me, just go ahead and get it over with. But he fades into vapor and I fall at his feet.

Crawling, I get to Ivan and hold him. "Don't leave me! Not again! Please don't! I can't bear it!" I am screaming, but in my hands he turns to ash. He sifts through my fingers and I realize, I never really had him. Not really. Maybe not ever.

"Jo," I turn to him. His green eyes are blazing.

Wren.

I stand, start to run to him. "Don't. Stop. You have to wake up."

"Wake up, Jo."

I'm thrashing wildly while Acanthus pins me down screaming. My heart feels as though it's crumbling in my chest. Then just as suddenly, all the fight in me is gone. "Rue," I say weakly as he cradles me to him. Blood drips from his nose onto my head.

"I know, it's okay."

* * *

><p>Haymitch hasn't slept since I left. His eyes are blood-shot and red-rimmed as he watches Katniss. He won't leave her. When I sit next to him though, he looks at me with knowing eyes. "Nightmares?" He raises an eyebrow.<p>

"You?" I ask back.

"I'm scared to find out. Maybe I'll never have to sleep again if I'm lucky."

"That's only when your dead. And maybe that's just one long nightmare," I pour a drink for us both while he catches me up. Apparently, Katniss has hardly moved all day long until the last few hours. All the fire is out of her.

"Not a spark left," Haymitch says solemnly. "If she doesn't get interesting real soon, then it'll all have been for nothing."

Katniss finally climbs her tree. When the anthem comes, she tries to blot out the sound by covering her ears. Then the trumpets fill the arena, I can feel the hairs on my arm standing up.

Every face in the arena is on the screen as the trumpet ends. I'm on my feet and so his Haymitch with a smug look on his face.

Cladius Templesmith makes the announcement. "Attention tributes! Attention! You'll all want to hear this. There has been a rule change. Two tributes can win this year, if they're from the _same _District."

"I'll be damned," I mutter.

Thresh bows his head in sadness. Foxface looks particularly unenthused—her odds just got longer. Cato and Clove look as though they've just won. Peeta is looking up in disbelief, his teeth shining in the moonlight as he smiles with dawning realization. Cladius repeats the rule change to make sure everyone's got it.

The sky goes dark when it happens. "Peeta!" Katniss exclaims her face aglow. Then she covers her mouth, tries to search the dark for enemies but the corners of her mouth twitch.

"Well, I'll be damned," Haymitch says. "I think she cares."


End file.
